


Fight or Flight

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: Charlotte "Charlie" Perkins lived a life on the edge of her father's radar, choosing to keep her distance and hope that he would not decide to come looking for her again. But a chance mishap that leads to her arrest will expose more than simply her falsified last name, just as it will bring her face to face with the man that let her walk away just three years ago to the day.
Relationships: Adam Ruzek/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

"Charlie, where the hell are you? Bus is leaving!"

"Calm down, Mack, I'm almost done!" The brunette hollered, rolling her eyes as she applied the last of her lipstick, and risking one final glance at her reflection in the chipped mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser. Like clockwork, her alarm had gone off at six thirty in the morning, prompting the beginning of a process that had become so ingrained in her mind that she truly could have gone through it in her sleep.

What a pity Mack didn't seem to see it that way.

Charlie had been with him for just over a year and a half, almost against her better judgment, though she would never admit to such a thought out loud. He was volatile. Unpredictable. A man that would be more likely to jump into a fight than he would be to wait for a more reasonable solution, and yet that very quality only served to commit her to the idea of sticking by his side to begin with. He had found her at rock bottom, when she thought she had no one, and taken her under his wing regardless. And although they had seen their share of tough spots in that short period of time since they first met, Charlie would have been a liar if she pretended that she had never felt more alive than she did with him.

No matter how hard things became, they had to be better than the prospect of returning home with her tail tucked between her legs.

She would not give her father the satisfaction…

"Damn it, Charlie, would ya hurry up?" Mack's renewed shout echoed up the stairs, the exasperation in his tone causing a half-smile to tug at the corner of Charlie's mouth even as she turned from the mirror, and headed to the doorway of the cardboard box-sized room that they were renting from the widower who lived on the ground floor. Of course, it wasn't ideal—none of it was. But it was better than making a living on the streets until they got their feet under them again.

Even with the cramped quarters, and the loud arguments that inundated them every night from downstairs, Charlie knew her current situation was a damned sight better than homelessness, or jail.

With that thought in mind, she descended the stairs as quickly as she could, a self-satisfied smirk crossing her features as she felt the weight of Mack's gaze as it roamed over her frame. It never got old—the way he looked at her with such a potent combination of possession, and faint pride—and although there were still days where he frightened her more than anyone else she had ever known, Charlie knew she could never leave him. Not by choice.

Not even if walking away was the only thing that could end up saving her life.

…

"Hey baby," Charlie cooed, one hand brushing against the arm of the man's leather jacket as though the gesture were completely accidental, though the look he gave her seemed to suggest he knew otherwise, "You look like you're a little lost."

"Is it that obvious, then?" The man inquired, turning so that he faced the woman standing beside him a bit more directly, and allowing himself the opportunity of looking at her with a bit more than just a distant sort of interest. She stood about a head and a half shorter than him, though she made up for it with an obvious sort of bravado that would have been grating if she hadn't been equally as easy on the eyes. The nod she gave him was almost too predictable, though that did not stop him from smiling, regardless, his posture shifting once again until they stood a mere hairsbreadth away from each other, the slight hitch in her next words seeming to indicate that he might have just succeeded in catching her off guard.

Good.

"Seems that way."

"What gave me away then?"

"The fanny pack, for a start," Charlie quipped, glancing down at the aforementioned object, and choosing to risk dropping her hand from the man's arm in favor of brushing her fingertips against the neon orange fabric instead, "You could've gone for a more subtle color."

"Yeah? What would be the fun in that?"

"You'd certainly attract less attention—"

"Well then you and I wouldn't be here."

"No. No, I don't suppose we would."

The words were said with a smile, though the man did not miss the way her blue eyes flitted away from his own, and landed instead on something a few feet away to his left. He had already spotted the man, of course, though he liked to believe he was doing a decent job of keeping it to himself.

He knew for a fact if the woman caught on to his observation she would be gone in seconds, and he would have nothing to show for his efforts thus far.

"Something tells me that would be a problem for both of us," He stated, if for no other reason than to force the woman's focus his way once more. In doing so, he became even more certain that she was within seconds of making the fatal flaw that they all made, in situations like this—buying into acting and convincing themselves it was real intrigue over what they could offer a man.

God, but that predictability drove him nuts…

"I'm glad to hear you say that, baby," Charlie pressed, one hand moving to rest tentatively against her companion's chest, so that she might inch closer and lean up on tiptoe until their lips were just barely touching, "Cause I think this just turned into a real good night for us."

"Yeah? How so."

"Why don't you come back to my place with your cash, and find out?"

What happened next seemed to transpire in a blur, the routine soft moan that Charlie gave as she pressed her mouth against the man's giving her all the reasons in the world to believe that this job would end exactly as all the other ones had, before it. She could feel his hands, biting into her waist, fingertips straying beneath the hem of her shirt to graze against her skin. But just as soon as she had broken away to reach for his hand, she found herself being harshly spun and forced towards a nearby vehicle, the wind abruptly leaving her lungs as she found herself slammed against its side while her arms were wrenched behind her back and the harsh clink of handcuffs reached her ears.

"Halstead, you got her?"

"Yeah," The man replied, the sound of the satisfaction that was so apparent in his tone causing Charlie to curse her own stupidity under her breath, even as she heard him ask a second question while simultaneously wrenching her away from the car so she was forced to stand upright, "Anything on the other guy?"

"Not a thing. From the looks of it, he cleared out as soon as his girl, here, got herself nabbed."

"Call it in," The man—Halstead—ordered, giving Charlie's arm a rough tug to get her moving toward the squad car, while simultaneously glancing back towards the other detective, a raised brow serving as the only indication that he was surprised at his companion's relative inaction.

"Don't look at me, Ruzek. You're the one that let him get away. You're the one that gets to tell Voight."

It would not be him that took the fall for letting the man Voight had been hunting for years off the hook….

…


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie sat with her hands cuffed to the table in the interrogation room, her mind whirling back and forth over a dozen different possible scenarios, and coming up blank no matter how hard she tried to come up with some plausible way out of her current situation. She had been in the room for what felt like hours, wrists already chafing as a direct consequence of how she had made the effort, no matter how futile, to free them from the metal cuffs that held them in place. A strange sort of panic had settled over her, even in spite of how her outward appearance radiated an implacable calm.

No matter how much she might have tried to convince herself otherwise, she could not ignore the fact that Mack had let her get nabbed without ever lifting a finger in her defense…

For the hundredth time, Charlie tried to come up with a logical reason for the man's inaction as soon as her plight made itself known, and each of those times she had been unsuccessful, a groan of frustration leaving her as she once again shied away from the admission that perhaps he had never intended to stick with her from the start. No matter the countless promises the two of them had made between the sheets, the reality appeared to be vastly different, now that push had come to shove.

God, but how could she have been so stupid?

It was simple, she supposed. She had allowed Mack to lure her in. She had allowed him to work past the defensive barrier she had erected after leaving home, in part because of exactly how much he reminded her of someone else she had once known. And now?

Now it looked like she would be paying the price for that mistake alone.

If that were not enough, Charlie was forced to recognize that she was now essentially a prisoner in the very place she had sworn never to find herself in again, her teeth chewing nervously at her lower lip as she risked a glance around the small interrogation room, and squinted against the harsh brightness of the fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It was all so very familiar, memories of a childhood spent running up and down hallways very similar to the one that she had been escorted through to get here flicking through her mind, and causing a shiver to run down her spine. She remembered every last bit of the countless days she had spent in this very building, chasing after her brother, or trying to find suitable places to hide when the Desk Sergeant came looking for them.

Were she being honest with herself, it was that memory alone that had her emitting a short laugh even in spite of her circumstances, the only thing distracting her from such an unexpected source of amusement being the sound of the door to the interrogation room squeaking on its hinges as yet another detective came to grant her a reprieve from her unwanted solitude.

"So—you're a popular little lady, aren't you?"

"Little lady? What is this, the fifties?" Charlie scoffed, forcing an eye roll and slumping back against the hard metalwork of the chair she occupied in what she hoped would come across as a show of indifference. She could tell that the newcomer was taking in her appearance—searching for a weakness that could be exploited. And although Charlie would be the first to admit she had little to no experience in this sort of situation, she was determined to do her best to see to it that he found nothing he could use against her.

Stubborn pride, even as a fault, would have to be beneficial. It was all she appeared to have left.

"You might consider yourself lucky that it isn't the fifties. Anyone caught doing what you do wouldn't be treated too kindly."

"Ah, and this is kind treatment? Forgive me, I had no idea I was in a four star hotel."

"Very funny," The man retorted, rearranging a chair opposite the one in which Charlie sat, so that its back faced the table, and he could straddle it with relative ease, "I suppose that's how you get your victims to buy into your little act, huh? Comedy?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"See, I think you do. And I think you're smart enough to realize you need to come clean if you want to get out of this without doing time."

"Come clean?" Charlie repeated, one brow lifting in mock skepticism until the unwarranted tugging sensation on her wrists once again alerted her to the fact that crossing her arms over her chest would be, at least temporarily, impossible, "I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be coming clean about, detective."

"You sure you want to keep playing that game?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I think you're getting pretty tired of being cuffed and locked away in here," The detective countered, aware of the young woman's scrutiny as she watched him with a wary sort of intrigue, and finding himself somewhat impressed at how effectively she put up the façade of having nothing to hide. Her eyes, though—they told a different story entirely.

It was that faint glimmer of a conscience that he wanted to exploit.

"You don't strike me as the sort of girl that wants to stay that way."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"I know Perkins is not your real name."

"Oh yeah? What's yours?" Charlie spat, silently cursing the slight waver that her shock had given to her voice, and simultaneously straightening just a bit in the chair, until the pulling and chafing of the cuffs at her wrists brought her up short yet again. Through her aggravation and the burning sensation left behind by Mack's betrayal, Charlie could see that the detective's expression had tightened just a bit, likely in response to her persistent harsh attitude. And although she knew that she was perhaps going a bit too far in terms of provoking the proverbial angry bear, she could not quite persuade herself to stop, a faint smirk toying with the edges of her mouth as she risked shifting just a bit closer to her would-be adversary before attempting to rile him once again.

"I'll go out on a limb here, and guess, given your appearance. Gonzales."

"Actually, smart-ass, it's Dawson. But we're a bit off track," The man—Dawson—stated, the evenness in his reply startling Charlie, and informing her that her attempted jab had not succeeded, at least not on the surface, "See, we ran the name on your driver's license—Charlotte Perkins—and until three years ago, she didn't exist."

"Clearly there's some sort of mistake—"

"Or you're hiding from something. Or someone. Want to know what my money's on?"

"I'm dying to hear it."

"Someone. And it'd go a hell of a lot easier on you if you told us who that someone is now, rather than making us wait."

"I'm not running from anyone," Charlie persisted, aware of how Dawson seemed to abandon the chair he occupied with relative ease, so that he could move partway around the table and perch on its edge, just a foot away.

"You're lying, Charlotte—"

"Charlie."

"Right. Charlie. You really expect me to believe that's your real first name?"

"It is. Same name I was born with."

"What, and it's the name you'll die with, too?" Dawson inquired; a soft chuckle escaping as he leaned just a bit more against the desk, and regarded the woman before him with something not all that far from a grudging respect. Though he would be the first to admit that her defiant replies were grating—angering, even—he was not quite naïve enough to believe that she behaved that way as a rule. He knew enough about the man she ran with to know that she had other skills in her arsenal…

What stunned him, and thus engendered at least some modicum of interest, was that in spite of what she had done to land herself in this predicament, she was not resorting to those same talents to try and get herself out.

"Assuming you treat my last question as rhetorical, I think I'll try for a different angle."

"Good cop, bad cop in one man? I'm impressed."

"Well, I have to use the techniques that work. Even you know that."

"Even I know that? What the hell does that mean?" Charlie demanded, frustration, for once, finally winning out over her desire to appear indifferent as she straightened once again, and wrenched at the cuffs holding her in place such that they gave a muted clinking as audible evidence of her jangled nerves. She knew almost as soon as she spoke that she was being foolish. That baiting this man any more might make her punishment worse, instead of lessening it. But in spite of that awareness, Charlie could not quite allow reason to win out over base ire, her fingernails cutting into the skin of her palms as her hands balled into fists and she listened to the detective's ensuing reply.

"It means that if you're not honest with me in the next minute or so, I'm going to have to break out the big guns; and I can guarantee you, you aren't going to like what he has to throw at you."

"So I'm supposed to believe that you're the lesser of two evils, here?"

"If you're smart, yeah. That's exactly what you're supposed to believe."

"Who's the big guns?"

"You don't want to know."

"Actually, I think I do," Charlie pressed, shifting just a bit so that she might cross her right leg over the left, the better to be able to rest her cuffed hands upon a surface other than the metal of the table that was so very close to the detective's left thigh, "Maybe he'll be more inclined to believe an honest woman when she says she's done nothing wrong."

Of course, had she not been so distracted by her attempted subterfuge as it pertained to avoiding giving her companion the ability to see past her façade, she would have noticed the shrill squeak of the interrogation room door, and the man that now stood in that doorway with an unreadable expression on worn features that were every bit as familiar to her as the back of her own palm…

"I don't think he's going to believe it, Charlie. Not this time."

Dad…

…


	3. Chapter 3

"Give us the room, Antonio," The newcomer ordered, never once averting his gaze from the young woman currently cuffed to the chair, though she appeared to be doing a fair job of pretending that he wasn't even there, "I can handle this."

"You sure, Sarge?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Something in the man's tone seemed to indicate to the younger detective that any sort of argument would be futile, and detrimental to the matter at hand, in addition, only the slight squeak of the table's metal feet against the flooring belying the haste with which Dawson moved to stand and exit the room as requested. Only a moment's pause transpired between that movement, and the newcomer's decision to nudge the door shut behind him with one foot, before pulling the chair opposite the young woman towards him, and taking a seat for himself—

Even so, with her current level of anxiousness, that moment seemed to Charlie as if it took damned near a full lifetime to end.

"You have anything to say for yourself, Charlie?"

"Why would I? Nothing I do or say will be good enough," The young woman retorted, her voice subdued in spite of the obvious venom that her words themselves possessed. Something in the way she stared at the corner of the table, as though transfixed by its simplicity, almost proved enough to have the man seated across from her holding back. Almost.

Of course, as soon as he saw the familiar jigging of her booted foot against the flooring, and the slight twitch of a muscle in her jaw, all thought of leniency faded away as quickly as if it had never even existed to begin with.

"You don't want to play hard ball with me, Charlie. You won't win."

"Isn't that the truth."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Voight pressed, the hard quality to his tone causing the woman seated across from him to flinch, and attempt to cross her arms over her chest in a habitual defensive gesture, only to find herself brought up short by the restriction of the cuffs still shackled around her wrists, "You and I both know you're smarter than this."

"Do we? From what I recall, I was never that smart to begin with."

"Because you bought into all the crap your so-called friends told you since high school! Your mother and I never wanted that for you."

"Do me a favor, and don't bring her up again," Charlie bit out, rearranging her posture in hopes that her companion would not notice the discomfort caused by the cuffs at her wrists, though she knew somehow that the effort would be futile no matter what, "She has nothing to do with this."

"Then tell me who does. Tell me who you hold responsible so we can get past this."

"Would 'myself' be a suitable answer for you? Or do you want more than that?"

"I want whatever I can get to get you out of this," Voight replied, aware of the narrowing in Charlie's eyes as she absorbed his assertion, and quite obviously decided not to believe it within seconds after hearing it, "Your boy gave you up, in case you hadn't noticed. You want to go down for this alone?"

"You don't know that he gave me up. You're not the only one that needs to play hero sometimes."

"Well I don't see him anywhere, do you?"

"Seeing him would kind of ruin the point of waiting for the opportune moment, wouldn't it?"

Unbidden, a short laugh escaped in response to the familiar ease with which Charlie fell back on quips such as the one just uttered, the sound obviously startling her enough to force her to glance at the man seated before her head on. For a moment, her expression seemed to waver, as though she were half tempted to relinquish her attempt at seeming indifference in favor of actually attempting honesty. But almost as soon as that moment appeared, it was disappearing just as quickly, the hardened cast returning to Charlie's eyes as she directed them at the table once again.

"Come on, Charlie, work with me here. You don't need to do jail time for this prick," Voight began, leaning with both elbows on the cool metal of the table between them, and fingers threaded together in a gesture of entreaty, "Who is he?"

"I talk, I'm dead," Charlie retorted, a shaky breath escaping her as she realized that her assertion, such as it was, had more truth to it than she had ever admitted to herself before, "Way I see it, I might actually be safer in prison. That is, if you actually have anything to pin me on."

"Solicitation of a Chicago police officer, for a start—"

"Solicitation? Or simple flirting?"

"Halstead says you specifically mentioned the exchange of funds for—"

"Was this Halstead wearing a wire?"

"I'm not gonna answer that," Voight dead-panned, hands moving until they rested, palms flat, upon the table, and consequently managing to garner Charlie's attention in spite of her desire to remain aloof, "And I know there's more to this than what meets the eye."

"Oh, do you?"

"You're not a whore, Charlie. If I know anything about you, I know that."

"What do you think this is, then?"

"That's what you're gonna tell me. What does this guy have on you?"

"Nothing. This isn't a man you need to save me from," Charlie quipped, forcing herself to meet her father's eyes even though doing so sent a jolt of something she had not felt in a long time to reverberate through her bones, "We had each other's backs from day one."

"Then where is he now? You keep telling me he's got you, and I keep blowing holes in your theory, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Then act like it."

"That's rich, when you stopped acting like a parent the day mom died."

Almost as soon as she said the words, Charlie regretted them, her cheeks flushing out of a combination of anger and embarrassment, and forcing her to redirect her attention to the blinding fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the moth that had chosen to flutter around it unnoticed until this precise moment. She was a hypocrite, for using her mother against him, while simultaneously refusing to allow him to do the same to her.

Hypocrite or not, though, she would have been a liar had she pretended that some small, childish part of her was at least moderately pleased that she had finally found a way to get under his skin after he had so effectively gotten underneath her own.

Hating herself for that part of her nature would just have to be dealt with later.

Risking a glance back at Voight as though the conclusion she had just reached steeled her nerves, Charlie found that her father appeared to be examining her with an expression that was every bit as implacable as she had endeavored to make her own just moments ago, the utter lack of emotion in that gaze unnerving her as nothing else could. It was as though he believed that, through simple force of will, he could make her relent and do as he wished as he had so many times before in her youth. But before she could find it in herself to either resist those attempts, or give in to them, Voight was pushing the chair he occupied back with the accompanying sound of scraping metal on the flooring, his fingertips remaining poised on the tabletop for only a moment while he spoke.

"Sit tight, Charlie. This isn't over."

No, Charlie thought to herself as she watched her father turn from her and leave her to her own devices in the interrogation room once again.

This has only just begun.

…

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Charlie found herself jolted awake by the sound of the interrogation room door's hinges squeaking their protest as her solitude was broken once more, her shock at having been able to actually doze off in spite of her current situation only growing as she recognized exactly who it was that had walked through the door. She hadn't thought to see her again, at least not working in the job she so obviously held.

But then again, in the long list of things Charlie had not expected to happen today, running into the girl who used to share her room when they were teens was pretty low on the list in terms of shock value…

"Hey, Charlie."

"Erin."

"I'd ask how you were, but I think that's pretty self-explanatory."

"Yeah, I think it is," Charlie agreed, forcing a lopsided smile for Erin's benefit, and lifting a brow as the detective gestured for her to raise her hands, "You're un-cuffing me?"

"Unless you've got a secret bondage fetish, yeah, I guess I am," Erin replied, matching Charlie's half smile with one of her own, and removing the cuffs from her wrists in one fluid motion before taking the seat Voight had just vacated, "I have to say, I'm pretty sure everyone always thought it would be me sitting where you are right now."

"Guess we fooled them, huh?"

"Maybe not in the way we wanted, but yeah, I guess we did."

"You gonna tell me who got you into this mess?"

"I'd rather not," Charlie began, flexing her wrists, and emitting a soft groan as her body almost immediately protested the movement after being held rigid for so long, "You don't need to get involved, Erin."

"Ancient history says I do. How many favors do I owe you now, exactly?"

"Don't cash one in on this."

"What if I want to?" Erin persisted, leaning with both elbows on the table in an almost exact mimicry of Voight's action from earlier, and choosing to ignore the raised brow Charlie sent her way in direct response to the act, "You're not a criminal, Charlie."

"I think my father would try to convince you otherwise."

"He's the reason I'm in here. We're not giving up on you, whether you've done that to yourself already or not."

"That's what you think this is?" Charlie inquired, astonishment coloring her tone as she looked the woman who had been more like a sister than simply a friend in the eye, and shook her head in obvious denial, "I haven't given up on myself."

"Then why won't you give us anything? What sort of loyalty do you think you owe this guy?"

"The same as I'd owe any one of my other friends."

"Does that include me?"

"You should know that it does, Erin."

"Then tell me what's going on here," Erin implored, abandoning protocol for a moment in favor of reaching across the table and grabbing one of Charlie's hands before she could find the wherewithal to pull away, "Let me help you, and I promise you won't have to deal with this asshole that put you in here ever again."

"He's not an asshole."

"From where I'm standing, it kind of looks like he is."

"That's because you don't know him like I do," Charlie said, glancing down at where Erin's hand held her own, and forcing herself to resist the urge to gently pull away solely for the benefit of her former friend, "We—we've been together for a year and a half. You don't—you can't know him."

"You love him."

"I—no. Maybe."

"Maybe sounds a hell of a lot like yes to me," Erin corrected, a resigned sigh coloring the ensuing silence as she watched Charlie finally succeed in removing her hand so that she might lean back against the chair she occupied with an expression that was a mix between denial and a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth, such as it was.

"You're entitled to that opinion."

"I'm glad you think so."

"We aim to please," Charlie retorted, brow furrowing as she realized almost immediately that her reply came off far more harshly than she intended, "Listen, Erin, whatever you think, or don't think, I can't just turn on this guy on a dime. He—we've both been through too much for it to end like that."

"Why do I get the feeling that he's already ended it?"

"Erin—"

"No, Charlie, I'm not going to feed into your denial, here. I can't. Not after all that we've been through, okay?"

Unsure of exactly how best to reply in light of her companion's absolute refusal to let her off the hook, Charlie opted for remaining silent, teeth coming out to worry at her lower lip as the internal debate over how to proceed went up against her regret over disappointing the woman who had been her best friend for an indeterminable number of years. Unlike her father, Erin had an uncanny ability to sense her moods—her attempts at deception and subterfuge—

No matter what, Charlie knew that whatever she said next, it would have to be good if she wanted to avoid a full disclosure of the truth without simultaneously alienating Erin Lindsay in the process.

Before she was able to come up with a plan that was at least marginally suitable, however, Charlie found herself once again brought up short by the sound of the interrogation room door squealing on its hinges as Voight appeared once again, his gaze only lighting upon Erin for the briefest of moments before resting on Charlie with such an intensity that she had to consciously fight the urge to squirm in her chair.

"You're coming with me. And before you come up with any wise-crack reasons why you can't, you should know this is the only thing I could pull to keep the DA from throwing your ass in jail tonight."

Whether she liked it or not, it looked like Charlie was going home…

…


	4. Chapter 4

"You're kidding. She's his daughter?"

"Cut the surprise, kid," Alvin Olinsky replied, running a hand over already drawn and exhausted features, and resuming his position seated at his desk, with the chair tilted back so that he reclined at an angle that was only slightly more comfortable than sitting erect, "The man's entitled to his secrets."

"Yeah, but a daughter? That's a hell of a thing to keep under wraps."

"Seems like he had a pretty good reason to me."

"So you knew about this? All along?" Ruzek pressed, aware of his partner's obvious exasperation over the continuous questioning, and yet unable to find it within himself to stop, regardless, "Come on, man, you've gotta give me something, here—"

"Actually, Ruzek, I don't have to give you anything," Olinsky countered, folding both arms across his chest, and regarding the younger man that had so persistently harangued him with an expression that practically pleaded for silence, even though he knew that he was not likely to get it, "And if you're as smart as you want everyone to think you are, you're not going to go running to Voight to get the answers from him yourself."

"Trust me, Al, I'm not that stupid."

"Could've fooled me."

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"I thought so."

"Are you two clowns done, or should we give you a few minutes?"

"Oh trust me, we're done," Alvin stated, casting one final, exasperated glance towards his partner before turning to face the small room's newest arrival, "You get anything on our girl's special friend, Dawson?"

"Not a thing," Antonio replied, tossing the file folder that he held onto Alvin's desk, and moving to lean against the wall beside it before elaborating further, "Name's a fake, just like hers was. He's in the wind."

"Not for long, if Voight has anything to say about it."

"You hear he's actually taking her home?" Dawson inquired, ignoring Ruzek's expression of shock in favor of looking at Olinsky more directly, "That's gonna make a tense evening."

"No kidding."

"You knew about this, too?"

"Shut it, Ruzek. You're not entitled to everything when you're a rookie."

"Being a little hard on him, don't you think, Al?"

"I'm hard on everyone when they're this new," Olinsky explained, casting a glance towards his partner, and shaking his head at the obviously frustrated expression that had taken over his features, "You have your doubts, Ruzek, you should just ask Halstead."

"I'll take your word for it, Al."

"Good idea, kid."

"Joking aside, we need to get this guy, and soon," Antonio pressed, glancing back towards the stairway that led towards the main floor of the precinct, just in time to see Voight climbing the last of the stairs alone. Though he liked to think he knew the man well, even he could not decipher the expression on their superior's features, in that moment—

He would've been a liar if he tried to pretend that such a realization did not send a bolt of apprehension through him over the thought of exactly what the man was capable of, if given sufficient motivation.

"I take it you three can handle things here for the night?" Voight inquired, something in the look he gave the detectives gathered around Olinsky's desk giving the impression that he meant business now, more than ever, "I want this guy found, and I want him found now."

"We got it, boss," Antonio assured, watching Voight carefully as he moved to grab his jacket from the peg outside his office, and only risking a glance at the rest of his team when the man's back was turned, "You ah—you want one of us to come with you on this one?"

"Halstead and Lindsay are already on it."

"You sure?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that."

Taking Voight's reply as a not so subtle request to stop pressing the matter, Antonio opted for remaining silent in lieu of making further conversation. Knowing Voight as well as he did, or thought he did, in some instances, he was well aware that pushing the man on a decision he had already made was about the farthest thing from wise.

Even so, Dawson harbored doubts over exactly how close to the vest his superior was playing this when it was apparent, even to him, that there was something larger at play than a simple family grudge.

"So you're taking her home?"

"It's where she belongs," Voight said, his tone brooking no argument as he glanced at each of his detectives in turn as though daring them to disagree, "Whatever you're all thinking, don't. I've got this."

"You know where to find me if you need me, Hank."

"I do, Alvin."

"Then make sure you use the information if you have to," Olinsky suggested, holding Voight's gaze for just a moment before the sergeant was once again turning away and heading back towards the stairs, "You're not in this alone."

No matter how often Voight chose to pretend otherwise, his team had his back, even when no one else did.

…

"So you knew her as a kid?"

"I already answered that question, Jay."

"With a simple yes or no, yeah," Jay agreed, fiddling with one of the dials on the dashboard that would turn down the heat that was gusting through the vents of the vehicle they occupied, and simultaneously attempting to make it appear as though his companion's answer was not truly as important as his persistent inquiries made it seem, "I have to admit, Erin, I'm used to more from you."

"Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No—"

"Good. Because I can always kick you out of the car here, and make you walk the rest of the way to Voight's."

"You'd never do that."

"No? Why not?"

"You like me too much."

"Says who?" Erin scoffed, rolling her eyes in exasperated amusement over Jay's assertion, and simultaneously turning the vehicle into the nearest intersection, "I don't remember ever making any claims like that."

"And here I thought you'd never be the type of person to have memory problems."

"Very funny, smart-ass."

"I thought so."

Unable to resist the urge to grin at her partner's usual antics, Erin opted for remaining silent after Halstead's latest quip, her attention remaining on the road ahead of them even while her thoughts drifted to the current predicament of an old friend. In truth, she had absolutely no idea what she would do, if she were the one in Charlie's shoes, forced to face the very thing that had driven her away from her home for years. But even in the face of that doubt and uncertainty, Erin could not entirely find it within herself to regret her friend's pseudo-forced return—

She could only hope that a night under her father's roof would not be enough to persuade Charlie to disappear once again.

"Hey—where'd you go just now?"

Startled from her own thoughts by the sound of her companion's inquiry, Erin shook herself and forced her attention back to the road before them, her shoulders squaring just a bit even as she felt the weight of Jay's eyes as they searched her features for some semblance of an answer. And although a small part of her was well aware that she owed him that much—the truth—Erin was not yet prepared to expose the details of another individual's life in that effort, a sigh escaping as she attempted to compose her thoughts in such a way that her next words were not construed as an outright lie.

"I—nowhere, Jay. I was just—there's a lot of stuff that Charlie and I went through—"

"And you're not prepared to share it."

"Not yet," Erin confirmed, risking a glance at her partner, and managing a thin smile at how he appeared to have taken her at her word, regardless of his own disappointment, "Trust me, the kinds of things you want to know would sound better if they came with the consent of both parties involved."

"Sounds like you owe this girl a lot."

"I do. And I'm not about to tell anyone about what put her in her current predicament until she tells me I can."

Regardless of what anyone thought regarding her loyalties, Erin Lindsay was not about to betray the trust of the one person that had been more like family than her own flesh and blood…

…

Returning home after what felt like absolute ages away was not what Charlie had expected, the strained silence on the car ride to the place she could have identified even if she had gone blind passing as nothing when compared to the sudden pang of guilt that she felt upon crossing over the threshold behind her father and looking on the furniture and other décor that had obviously never been moved since she left it all behind. It was almost paralyzing—the feeling that absolutely nothing had changed, in spite of the fact that Charlie knew full well that nothing was, or ever would be the same again.

Of course that split second's hesitation proved to be enough to have her father turning back to face her after having tossed his jacket on the sofa, his expression flickering into something that might have resembled empathy for a moment, before it became cautiously neutral once more.

"Charlie?"

"I'm fine," The young woman stated, the fingers of her left hand curling in until the nails dug into the skin of her palm, while her right hand lifted to dash a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, "I'm—I'm fine."

"And how many times will you need to say that before you actually believe it?"

"That's not what this is."

"Sure looks like it to me."

"Dad—" Charlie protested, some sort of instinct prompting her to move towards the staircase that was just inside the door, so that she might take a seat on the third step as she had so often as a young girl, "Look, it's obvious that you don't want me here, so—"

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know."

"You might want to rethink that, kid. I could've just as easily let them cart your ass to lock-up," Voight spat, for the moment, unable to maintain the hardened exterior that had been a near constant companion since the initiation of the journey home, "You're here because I want you here. End of story."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me here?" Charlie demanded, looping an arm around her knees and curling in on herself in a gesture that was nothing short of defensive, regardless of her intentions, "It's been three years—"

"And whose fault is that?"

"I think we'd both come up with a different answer for that one."

"You're probably right. But it was never because I didn't want you around, Charlie."

"It never seemed like that—"

"You ever think that's because you wanted it to be that way?" Voight questioned, aware of how Charlie seemed to flinch in response to his words, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "It gave you a reason to stay away."

"There was more than one reason and you know it," Charlie insisted, the hold her arm had around her knees tightening just a bit as she tried and failed to ignore the inherent wavering in her voice, "There was always more to it than that."

"Then why don't we talk about it, instead of pretending it doesn't exist?"

"Because pretending things don't exist is what we do, Dad."

Unable to deny the validity in his daughter's statement, Voight settled upon remaining silent instead, watching her carefully in that silence while her own attention seemed to rivet itself upon the torn fabric at her knees. Idly, one hand picked at the loose threads, as though that task were the most fascinating thing she had encountered in quite some time. And, half in an effort to give them both some manner of escape from the strained silence that seemed, once again, to have taken over the small room they occupied, Voight was soon clearing his throat, both hands seeking pants pockets as he registered Charlie's gaze fixing on his own once more while he spoke.

"Your room's still upstairs, if you want to go rest."

As easily as that, it seemed, the two of them were exactly back to where they had started…

…

After managing a quick shower, and rummaging through the dresser drawers in her old bedroom until she found a baggy old t-shirt and sleep-shorts that still fit, Charlie found herself rather effectively sequestered in solitude, whether she had initially wanted it, or not. For a few moments, she had paced the room, blue eyes roving over every last detail that had remained unchanged since her departure, from the posters hung haphazardly across the walls, to the squeaking floorboard right beside the bed. A dusty smell pervaded the room, as though its door had not been opened since she left, as well, but even in the face of that fact, Charlie found herself rather uncomfortably aware of a dull aching in her chest that seemed to throb in time with the stinging pinpricks of sensation that plagued her eyes.

No matter how she might have wished to ignore it, she could not help but come to the conclusion that perhaps her father had been right all along.

Mack really was intent on leaving her to fend for herself…

Unable to cope with the raw pain that was nearly overwhelming in the face of such a realization, Charlie plunked down on the edge of the twin bed, her fingers instinctively seeking purchase in the faded old quilt her mother had made so many years ago as though hoping that it would help her fend off the guilt that came in connection with her newfound realization. She should have seen the relationship for what it was. She should have known.

The fact that she had, once again, been lulled into something that she should have steered clear of spoke to her own naiveté far more than she wished to admit.

Silently cursing her decision was not likely to have any tangible reward, however, and although Charlie was not exactly thrilled over her current situation, she was also powerless to deny that she was, at least for the moment, out of reach of any of the more dire consequences that might have befallen her, had her father decided not to get involved—

Inasmuch as she truly hated the idea of being beholden to the man, she knew she would have been a fool not to be grateful.

The thought of all that had transpired between them what felt like ages ago only confused her, now, her pain over the loss of her home and whatever familial bond she felt she owed to her father at odds with the niggling sense of wounded pride that smarted over any thought of reconciliation. Charlie knew full well that she had done things she was not proud of. That she had said things she was not proud of. But perhaps what irked her more than all of that, and of the times she wished she might have taken back every last thing she had partaken in out of a desire to lash out, was the fact that her father had never once acted as though he had regretted the decision that had torn their family apart after the death of the one person that had worked so diligently to hold them all together.

Jumping as the sound of the television blaring to life downstairs, and finding herself rather efficiently startled out of her internal musings, Charlie forced her eyes open and placed her elbows upon her knees, both hands rising to rub at exhausted features as her ears simultaneously tried to catch some idea of whatever it was that her father was watching.

Late night sports. Typical.

Lulled, though she did not want to be, by the familiar return of the routine that had been set in stone for as long as she could remember, Charlie scooted just a bit farther back on the mattress until her legs could cross beneath her, and her back could rest against the coolness of the wall beside the bedroom window, the dull thump of her head connecting with the wall hardly evoking any attention at all as she settled instead for focusing on the muted sounds of sportscasters emanating from the television one floor below.

For now, at least, she would do what she could to take refuge in the familiarity surrounding her.

The memory and pain that came along with that familiarity would simply have to wait.

…


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up in the room she had slept in for the majority of her childhood was disorienting at first, particularly in light of the fact that, for what felt like ages, Charlie was waking up alone. Whether she chose to admit it to herself or not, the emptiness of the bed was more disheartening than she might have originally believed, a frown marring her brow as she hauled herself up to a seated position, and rubbed at her eyes with both hands. Once again, she found herself stunned by the exact set of circumstances that had brought her here, to her childhood bedroom, in her father's house. And no matter how much she might have wished to avoid it, Charlie was very well aware that she would, eventually, have to venture back downstairs to face the man directly.

Perhaps it was better to face that particular event sooner, rather than later…

As determined as she could have been in the face of such a realization, Charlie forced herself to swing her feet over the edge of the bed so that they could make contact with the threadbare carpet, and she could stand not long thereafter. Almost immediately, the floorboard beneath her feet gave its telltale creak, rather effectively betraying the fact that she was already awake to anyone else that possessed moderately decent hearing in the home. And with a wince at the idea of her father coming to seek her out himself, Charlie moved towards the door to the bedroom and opened it out onto the hallway beyond, only to find herself freezing in place as she caught sight of the black vehicle parked just opposite of where the house resided on the street through the window immediately beside her bedroom door.

She ought to have known her father would never have brought her home without certain security measures in place to ensure she didn't try to slip away…

Sighing in apparent exasperation, Charlie maneuvered away from the window in favor of beginning the act of descending the stairs, one hand tugging through tousled hair while the other grazed against the bannister to prevent a fall. It had not escaped her notice that her father's bedroom door was wide open before she headed downstairs, thus increasing the likelihood of the conversation she had been dreading ever since arriving at home the night before. Without realizing it, Charlie's teeth came out to begin the task of worrying at her lower lip, her heart rate seeming to rise with every step she took towards the main landing below. But no matter how she dreaded what might come about as a result of any interaction with her father, Charlie knew that she had to face him eventually.

The familiar sound of coffee brewing, and the ensuing smell would just have to be motivation enough to pull her into the kitchen, no matter the depth of her own misgivings.

With both hands folded across her chest, Charlie moved into the kitchen with as much self-assurance as she could muster, her gaze flicking to the coffee machine with something not all that different from longing, before she found herself distracted by her father's presence beside the refrigerator, holding a cup of coffee of his own.

"Charlie."

"Dad," Charlie replied, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, and averting her gaze to the flooring at her feet as though her toenails were now the most fascinating thing in the world, "Are the coffee cups still—"

"Third shelf, middle cupboard, yeah."

"Thanks."

"You still take it plain?"

"Like always," Charlie confirmed, standing up on tiptoe to reach for one of the aforementioned glasses, only to find herself freezing in place as she caught sight of the familiar chipped purple mug that she had always imagined finding its way to the trash long ago, "You—you still have this?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it—"

"Because it was your mother's?" Voight finished, aware of how Charlie had almost immediately tensed upon his mention of the proverbial elephant in the room, though she did seem to recover quickly enough to select a plain white mug and shut the door before she turned to face him directly, "Seems to me that's every reason to keep the thing, not throw it out."

"I guess I just never thought you were the sentimental type."

"Yeah, well, I surprise a lot of people that way."

"You ever use it?" Charlie inquired, once again turning away from her father, this time in favor of reaching for the coffee pot so that she might pour some of the steaming liquid into her mug in lieu of being able to watch her father's expression as he replied.

"What do you think?"

"Guess not."

"Would you?" Voight asked, watching as Charlie absorbed herself in the task of taking a sip or two of her coffee before managing a reply.

"Probably not, no."

"I didn't think so."

"Saw your people from the upstairs window," Charlie remarked, her muscles seeming to tense of their own accord, even in spite of how she had, at least for the moment, redirected their conversation away from a topic that she truly had no real desire to discuss, "You worried someone would try and break in?"

"More like worried someone would try to break out. I seem to recall you were never afraid of slipping out of your bedroom window to see some boy I didn't like."

"Did you ever like any of them?"

"Fair point," Voight admitted, tamping down on the slight sense of encouragement he felt upon noting the corner of Charlie's mouth twitching in amusement, and choosing instead to remain cautiously neutral over how she would react to what he said next, "I think given past history, I had fair reason to hold reservations."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it says, Charlie. You got yourself involved with a lot of people you should've stayed away from."

"No more than Erin or Justin," Charlie countered, silently cursing herself for the way her voice had cracked in tandem with the resurgence of nerves that assailed her over the reference to not only her past, but her current situation as well, "How is this any different?"

"Last I checked, neither of them were facing solicitation charges."

"It's not like they haven't faced others of their own—"

"Dammit, Charlie, we need to have a straight conversation about this!" Voight exclaimed, aware of how his daughter had almost immediately flinched at the raised tone of his voice, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "You need to tell me what I need to know so I can tell the DA what they want to hear."

"Seems to me what they want to hear is that I belong in jail."

"They won't after I'm done with them."

"What exactly do you think you can do?" Charlie demanded, abandoning her coffee mug on the kitchen counter so that she could brace herself against the surface with both hands, in part to hide how fiercely they had begun the act of shaking in spite of her efforts to prevent it, "Your boy's testimony will put the nail in the coffin no matter what."

"Halstead can change his story."

"Why the hell would he want to?"

"Because I told him to," Voight deadpanned, folding both arms across his chest, and regarding Charlie with a look that almost seemed to dare her to judge the reasons behind that decision right then and there, "The choice is yours, kid. You just have to give me one thing in return."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"The name of the prick that landed you here."

And they were back to that, again…

"I already told you I can't give you that," Charlie stated, forcing herself to look her father in the eye, though all she truly wanted to do was look away, "That answer hasn't changed."

"Cut the crap, Charlie. You know you're better off giving it to me straight, here. I'm trying to help you."

"Well maybe you can't."

"I can't? Or is it just that you don't want me to?"

"You make it sound like I actually want to go to jail."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Voight pressed, moving away from the countertop he had been leaning against, and stepping just a bit closer to his daughter, even in the face of how she seemed to instinctively shrink in on herself as though fearful of an attack, "You're the one who's not giving me anything to go on. What does this guy have on you?"

"Nothing."

"This isn't looking like nothing, kid."

"What do you want me to say, Dad? That I'm ready to roll over on this guy no matter what we've been through?"

"That would be ideal."

"Well it's not going to happen," Charlie persisted, turning back towards the counter, and leaning against it with both palms flat against the surface, "Not—not yet."

"When?"

"Would you believe me if I said I don't know?"

"For now? Yeah," Voight acquiesced, watching Charlie's reaction carefully for a moment more, and deciding that she did, in fact, appear to be telling the truth, "But you and I are going to talk when I get back later today."

"You—you're leaving me here?"

"Yeah, I am. But you won't be here alone."

The huff that Charlie gave in response to his most recent assertion was unmistakable, her supposition that he was about to leave her to her own devices every bit as predictable as her apparent desire to get to the bottom of what, exactly, he intended to do with her instead. For a moment, Voight could have almost believed that things were exactly as they had been just three years prior.

Of course it only took the narrowing of his daughter's eyes in open suspicion to change all of that in the blink of an eye.

"Don't tell me you actually got me a baby sitter—"

"Only because I know you well enough to realize you'll go running off the first chance you get," Voight supplied, moving from the kitchen to the foyer, and grabbing the coat hanging on the hook by the door, before turning back to give her one last look that he hoped would be warning enough to keep her from doing anything he couldn't get her out of.

"Don't make me, or my guy regret this, Charlie. Be nice."

As if she could do anything but…

…

"Wait a minute. Me?"

"Unless your name isn't Adam Ruzek," Olinsky replied, steering around the corner that would lead to Voight's home, and suppressing slight amusement over the predicament his young partner would be faced with that day, "You should consider yourself lucky. Could have the makings of a pretty easy shift."

"Easy. Sure. Until I screw something up, and Voight has my ass."

"That's simple, kid. Just don't screw anything up."

"You got any advice to help with that, Al?" Ruzek inquired, watching his partner for some sign of a reply, and finding relatively quickly that none was going to be forthcoming, "No. Didn't think so."

"Look, you want to do this right? Make sure she doesn't do anything to screw up Voight's plan to get her cut loose, alright?" Olinsky suggested, pulling into the drive just as the man in question appeared on the front porch, and bringing the vehicle to a stop before throwing it in park, "He thought you would be the best one for the job. That should be a compliment."

"A compliment? I'm a cop, Al, not a glorified baby sitter."

"Don't let Voight hear you say that."

"If he's going to kick my ass anyway, when I mess this up—"

"You're not going to mess this up, Ruzek," Alvin assured, moving to exit the vehicle, and running a hand across his mouth to hide his amusement before addressing their superior directly, "How's the prisoner this morning, Sarge?"

"Less than pleased about her situation," Voight answered, glancing from Olinsky, to Ruzek, and noting that the younger man appeared to be at least slightly apprehensive over the proposed solution to their problem as well, "Don't worry, I told her to behave herself."

"Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about, Sarge."

"You riding with me, or Halstead and Lindsay over there on the curb?" Alvin intervened, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of one of the curtains on the window directly opposite where he stood seemed to flicker, as though someone had just flipped them back to look outside. He suspected it was Charlie, herself, perhaps attempting to keep tabs on exactly who was involved in working her case. But of course, before he could make any further attempts at discerning whether or not she would attempt to glance out the window for a second time, Voight was replying to his inquiry, effectively diverting his attention even in the face of his curiosity over everything that had just transpired.

"You. I don't really feel like risking life and limb with Halstead's driving."

"Fair point. Seems we've been lucky Lindsay's managed to survive it this far."

In lieu of an immediate reply to that claim, Voight settled instead for turning back to look at his home one more time before departing it, a sigh escaping at the thought of exactly what he might be required to do to find the man that had succeeded in placing his daughter in her current position to start with. Just as he had before, he would not mind the idea of ignoring the usual limitations when it came to getting someone he cared for out of trouble, no matter the consequences that he suffered as a result.

The only factor that might make circumstances different, in this instance, was Charlie's reaction when she eventually learned what lengths he had gone to in order to secure her freedom…

"Ruzek—you sure you're up for this?" Voight said then, redirecting his attention to the younger man, and regarding him with an expression that was equal parts inquiring, and appraising while he awaited a response.

"Yeah, Sarge, I got this"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure," Ruzek confirmed, straightening his posture and stowing both hands in his jeans' pockets, while simultaneously glancing at Olinsky for help and finding none to be forthcoming, "I won't mess this up."

"I know you won't. You have any trouble, you know how to reach me."

"Got it, Sarge."

"Alright," Voight began, heading towards the car Ruzek had just vacated, and waving a hand to get Olinsky to do the same, "You get a chance to get anything out of her, you take it, Ruzek. We need whatever we can get to find this son of a bitch and put him away before he can take her down with him."

"I'll do my best," Ruzek replied, watching as his partner, and his superior climbed into the vehicle, and exhaling slowly as he came to the realization that waiting out here in the driveway was not going to make his job any easier…

He could only hope that, perhaps by some miracle, Voight's daughter wouldn't be as much of a ball-buster as her father could be.

…


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie was sitting on the sofa when the man walked in, a mug of hot coffee clutched between two hands, and one brow quirked skyward as she waited for his gaze to finally land upon her. For a moment, she almost thought that he would overlook her entirely, his attention obviously rather more focused upon taking in the scenery of the house itself. And although she knew why that might have been the case—after all, how many days was it that any of her father's employees found themselves in his home—Charlie could not help but give in to the urge to clear her throat and effectively distract her newfound companion from his apparent distraction, his gaze snapping to hers while he took a step back as though stunned he was not, in fact, as alone as he might have thought.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Charlie repeated, suppressing a grin, and rearranging herself on the sofa so that she could lean forward and reach for the remote to place the television on mute before going on, "That's all you've got?"

"I—ah—sorry," The man corrected, shaking himself minutely and forcing himself to move just a bit further into the den, with one hand seeking refuge inside a jeans pocket, "You must be Charlie."

"The one and only. And you must be the poor soul stuck watching me all day, instead of doing real police work."

"Your dad gave me the impression this would be very much like real police work—"

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know your father very well?"

"Oh I wouldn't call it that," Charlie mused, pausing to take a sip of her coffee, and savoring the warmth of the liquid even in spite of her reluctance to be in her current predicament in the first place, "More like a lucky guess."

"So you don't know him well?"

"Does anyone?"

"Fair point," The man acknowledged, moving towards the sofa, and glancing at the empty space beside where Charlie herself was seated, before returning his attention to the young woman herself with a slightly raised brow, "May I?"

"I don't know—I'm not in the habit of sitting next to complete strangers."

"Oh—God, sorry. Adam. Adam Ruzek."

"Well, Adam Ruzek—take a seat," Charlie instructed, suppressing her amusement as she caught sight of a faint flush adorning her companion's cheeks, and the manner in which he chose to take the proffered seat, all the while carefully avoiding her gaze. For some reason, though it ordinarily never troubled her at all, now, she found herself rather poignantly aware that she was still in her pajamas, her hair thrown back into a haphazard ponytail, and a frayed old throw blanket draped across her legs. But before such a thought could take root completely in her mind, Charlie found herself rather mercifully capable of pushing it aside, her own gaze straying toward a loose thread on the blanket for a moment before she gathered the wherewithal to speak once more.

"I suppose a polite hostess would offer you coffee—"

"I suppose she would."

"So?"

"Ah—black? Two sugars?" Ruzek requested, something about the prospect of Hank Voight's daughter preparing coffee for him, of all things, causing his brow to furrow, as though he could not reconcile the simple task with the woman now rising from the couch with her own mug in hand, and stepping carefully around his outstretched legs to head back to the kitchen before he remembered his manners, "Please."

"Got it."

Brow furrowed at the utter domesticity of the current situation, Charlie found herself shaking her head in abject disbelief as she reentered the kitchen and headed back to the cupboard for another mug, her reluctance to be sharing her space with a complete stranger tempered just a bit by the rather obvious fact that her companion appeared to be equally disconcerted, and out of his element, as well. Somehow, it was almost comforting, knowing that she was not alone, in that regard, though she would never admit to such a thing out loud. And although she was still not entirely rid of the desire to wonder why it was that her father had decided to take her in, rather than allowing her to be carted off to jail, Charlie did what she could to force her mind away from such thoughts, choosing to focus instead upon the mundanity of pouring another cup of coffee for both herself, and her unanticipated guest, before heading back towards the den with both in hand.

"Thank you—"

"Any time," Charlie replied, being careful to avoid any sort of contact with Adam's hands as she handed over the spare mug of coffee, and once again stepped over his legs before resuming her seat beside him, "I'll warn you, this is about as far as my domestic capabilities go, at the moment—"

"Fine by me. We can do take-out for lunch."

"Exactly how long did my dad tell you to stay here?"

"For as long as it takes for him to get back," Ruzek supplied, aware of the slight fall in his companion's expression, and suppressing his own amusement as he managed a sip of the coffee she had given him before speaking any further, "You didn't really think he'd let you be alone, did you?"

"No. No, I suppose I really didn't," Charlie confessed, squirming a bit beneath the apparent watchfulness in her companion's gaze, and choosing to redirect her own towards the coffee mug held between her hands. In truth, she couldn't explain it—the reason behind her sudden sense of uncertainty, particularly as he was the stranger in her home, not her. But no matter her own feelings of slight indignation that she felt so ill at ease at the present, through both the presence of Adam himself, and her obviously terse conversations with her father combined, Charlie forced herself to avoid letting that show as much as she could, her shoulders squaring just a bit as she took a deep breath, and brought her attention back to the man before her once again.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"That you're stuck here, with me, when you'd be better off doing your job."

"I think your father and I would both agree that I am doing my job," Adam said, aware of how Charlie's blue eyes appeared to have narrowed for just a moment, before she had carefully rearranged her features into something more akin to the neutral mask she had adopted when he first arrived, "The man wants to keep you safe, Charlie."

"Safe? I think the better term for that is prisoner."

"How so?"

"You can't tell me you don't see it," Charlie stated, incredulity coloring her tone no matter how much she may have wished to avoid it, "How many other people get a personal guard service in their own home?"

"Witness protection—"

"That's what you think this is?"

"In a way. From what I gather, your partner left you hanging. My guess is he won't want to risk you talking about what it is the two of you were doing."

"You think he would actually try and take me out? That's—laughable."

"Is it, though?" Adam pressed, raising a brow, and watching his companion carefully for any sign of a tell that would indicate he was on the right track. In truth, he had not anticipated getting around to the subject of Charlie's enforced house arrest this quickly in the game, having been given every reason to believe that she would put up a fight from Voight's own mouth. But despite all of his apparent suppositions, he was not about to let the opportunity escape without trying to do as he had been instructed, his next words tentative, as he watched Charlie lean back against the cushions of the sofa before he spoke again, "We see it all the time. Guys lose track of their accomplices—those accomplices become a liability—"

"I'm hardly a liability."

"Really? Did this guy you ran around with know who you were related to?"

"No. And unless you guys start publicizing it, I don't see why he'd have any reason to find out."

"We aren't going to be publicizing it—"

"Then I think I'm quite safe, don't you? Even if my 'accomplice', as you call him, does decide to seek revenge," Charlie assured, placing her now-empty coffee mug on the table before the sofa, and leaning back against the cushions once again with arms folded across her chest, "But this is all hypothetical of course."

"You seem awfully certain of that."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you don't strike me as someone that exhibits blind trust all that often," Adam remarked, aware of how Charlie's expression appeared to have tightened just a bit, her lips pursed into a thin line as though she had somehow taken offense at his assertion regardless of his desire to avoid that outcome, "What is it about this guy that's different?"

"You can't actually think I'd tell you that—"

"A man can dream."

"You'll be dreaming for a long time, then," Charlie quipped, managing a faint grin for her companion's benefit, before standing from her place upon the sofa, and stretching with her arms held above her head, her spine emitting only a soft crack of protest as a result, "Think you can amuse yourself with that while I go upstairs to change?"

Not even waiting for an answer, Charlie skirted around Ruzek's outstretched legs once again, and headed towards the stairs that would take her back to her bedroom, something in the man's expression almost—almost—provoking a laugh in spite of her desire to avoid it. It was apparent she had caught him off guard, the almost selfish satisfaction that she felt as a result coming very near to overwhelming her desire to keep from showing such an emotion outright. But in spite of the almost compulsive tug that amusement made against the edges of his mouth, Charlie managed to resist, only turning her head back at the last possible moment as she placed a hand upon the bannister so that she could risk one final glance at the man who her father had chosen as her keeper for the better portion of the day ahead.

Regardless of her desire to avoid it, she could not help but feel sorry for him, knowing that no matter how he may deny it, his time would clearly be better served elsewhere…

Despite her attempts to appear otherwise, Charlie had no doubt in her mind that she was about as pleasant a charge as a surly teenager after being caught trying to evade parental authority for the umpteenth time.

…

"You going to check in eventually?" Detective Alvin Olinsky inquired, draining the last of the bitter coffee in the Styrofoam cup he held, and tossing the dregs in a nearby trashcan before Voight managed to give him a reply.

"You saying I've got reason to doubt Ruzek's ability to handle this?"

"Not at all."

"Then why would I need to check in?"

"Because she's your daughter," Olinsky explained, suppressing a sigh at his employer's obviously mystified expression, and running a hand across his features for a moment before going on, "You want to give her a reason to stay, it might be helpful if she knew you cared."

"She knows, Alvin."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I think I am," Voight replied, risking a glance at Halstead and Lindsay as they returned from the errand he had set them on mere hours before, "There something you're not telling me?"

"No."

"Then why are you suddenly questioning my parenting?"

"Because this particular situation seems to require a bit of a delicate touch," Alvin began, aware of the tell-tale manner in which Voight seemed to jam his hands inside his jeans pockets, both brows lifted in obvious skepticism over the idea as a whole, and yet choosing to press forward, regardless, "And I think you and I know each other well enough by now for me to say you don't always have something like that in your arsenal."

Remaining silent in the wake of his colleague's assertion, Voight spared a moment in silent consideration, something in him acknowledging the rightness of Alvin's claim, though he had not a clue exactly how to bring that claim to fruition. It was no secret that things between he and Charlie had been strained for quite a while, despite what he thought were his best efforts to remedy that very fact. Briefly, he allowed his thoughts to stray back to a time when she had been nothing more than his little girl, not some stranger that he barely knew, and that didn't seem to want to know him at all. But of course, before he could become too distracted by such musings, his attention was rather effectively diverted by Halstead's approach, his expression more than a little apprehensive as he risked a glance at Olinsky before addressing his superior head-on.

"We took a look into those names you mentioned, boss," The younger man began, noting the slight sharpening in Voight's expression, and yet refusing to back down, regardless, "Not one of them turned up anything we don't already know."

"Which is?"

"That this guy knows how to cover his tracks," Jay explained, risking a glance at Erin when she appeared at his side, though that did little to relieve him of the intensity of Voight's gaze, "Though he wasn't so careful about covering Charlie's."

"What do you mean?"

"They've been collared before. Or rather, she has. Under different names, each time. A name per city—"

"And none of these other cities have a record of the asshole leaving her hung out to dry every time she gets scooped up?"

"According to their HQ, no. They don't."

"Who the hell is this guy? You can't expect me to believe he just vanishes into thin air every time things get tough," Voight demanded, regarding Halstead with a look that would have been unnerving, had the younger man not understood the exact cause behind his superior's apparent frustration.

Jay knew as well as the rest of them that if they didn't find anything leading them to the man behind it all, Charlie would be the one behind bars…

"A guy that can vanish like this—that leads me to believe that we're dealing with something bigger than just a pimp selling his goods in any city that will have him," Erin suggested, noticing the appreciative glance her partner sent her way, and managing a faint nod in response before turning her attention back towards Voight, himself, "We need to figure out his end game."

"And I trust you've come up with a suitable way of doing that," Voight intoned, shifting on his feet as a means of relieving some of the tension that had crept between his shoulder blades, though he knew somehow that the effort would almost immediately prove to be futile, "Care to elaborate?"

"We need to find a way of bringing him out in the open. Getting him to let his guard down might just make him do something that gives us enough to make an arrest."

"Go on."

"I think Charlie might be able to help us on that count," Erin pressed, steeling herself against the predictable darkening in Voight's expression, and risking a step closer towards him in order to make her case as best she could, "If you let me talk to her, I think I can convince her that this is our best option."

"And if she refuses?" Voight countered, suspicion weighing heavily upon his mind, in spite of the fact that he trusted Erin Lindsay as implicitly as though she were his own blood. There was absolutely no reason for him to doubt that she had his daughter's best interests in mind, particularly given their own close relationship since almost the first moment he had brought Erin into his home. But no matter how he may have wished to avoid it, Voight was not entirely capable of fighting the skepticism that lingered in his mind at the prospect of Charlie going into what Erin proposed willingly, her reaction when he suggested she turn against the man who had landed her here replaying once again despite his awareness that Erin was already answering his inquiry with the very confidence that had drawn his notice in the first place.

"She won't. Not if you let me do this my way."

"Am I allowed to know what 'your way' is?"

"As soon as I finalize the idea, yeah, I think you are," Erin replied, aware of the questioning look on Olinsky's features, and shaking her head minutely to ward off any questions on his part so that she could focus solely on Voight, instead, "Come on, Hank, you know I can do this. Whatever else she is, Charlie is like a sister to me. I want this guy as bad as you do."

Aware that she was sincere—that of all people, Erin Lindsay was one of the few that he could believe without a doubt would persuade Charlie to see reason when he, himself, could not—Voight forced himself to manage a terse nod, the briefest flares of satisfaction in Erin's features serving as enough to assure him she would not let him down. Of course, he was not so foolish as to believe that Charlie would give in without a fight, even to a friend as loyal as he knew Lindsay had already proven herself to be. But even that suspicion was not entirely enough to give him pause when it was so apparent that they needed to accept whatever avenue remained open to him when it came to getting his daughter in the clear.

Even if she fought him at every turn, he would be damned if he saw Charlie behind bars.

…

Having been left to his own devices for what felt like ages in the home of his employer, while the man's daughter had ventured upstairs, Adam Ruzek found himself pondering exactly how in hell he had managed to land this particular assignment, when it was fairly obvious he was in over his head. Naturally, he did not blame his status as the unit's rookie for his current predicament. Not really, despite the fact that he knew there were others back at the precinct who possessed far more knowledge and experience than he. But regardless of whether he might have fared better, had he possessed such knowledge before setting foot in Voight's home, absolutely all of it fell rather abruptly to the wayside in light of the reality that now stood before him.

He ought to have known she was taking far too long for the simple act of changing clothes, and yet he had allowed himself to be lured into the false sense of security that she would be true to her word, only to find that such a belief was about the furthest thing from the truth.

God, but Voight was going to kill him…

Glancing once again towards the partially opened window, Adam suppressed a groan before walking towards it as though he truly believed he would be able to look down and find Charlie simply perching in the tree beside it, one brow cocked at him before she delivered the quip he knew he would have deserved. He could practically hear her voice, taunting him for not trusting her—for having the audacity to barge into her room as though he belonged there. But the fact of the matter remained, no matter how he might have wished for such a simple solution, even if it meant facing the icy distance that the young woman had enforced upon him since their initial meeting, Charlie was not nearby, and he would have to alert her father to that very fact sooner, rather than later.

And after the man knew? Well, he might as well kiss a career in Hank Voight's Intelligence Unit goodbye.

With what felt like the hundredth resigned sigh in a mere five minutes, Adam reached for the cell that was in his back pocket, his free hand shutting the window and turning the lock back where it belonged before he flipped the device open, and punched Voight's number on speed dial. He could already anticipate the man's disappointment—the anger that, even though he did not want to admit it, would be well deserved. But no matter what consequences he might have to face for his actions, or inaction, such as it was, he was also smart enough to know that keeping the reality of the situation under wraps any longer was about as foolish as showing up drunk for a day on the job.

Somehow, as he waited for the seemingly endless ringing of Voight's phone to end when his employer answered his call, Ruzek thought intoxication might be more forgivable than what he was about to confess to, now.

"What is it, Ruzek?" Voight's gravelly voice inquired, something in the hard quality to the older man's tone seeming to indicate that he might already have some suspicion over what exactly it was that had prompted the call in the first place, "Spill it, kid. I ain't got all day."

"We have a, ah—a bit of a situation, here, boss," Ruzek began, silently cursing the manner in which his voice seemed to waver, though he knew full well that such a reaction was not unwarranted.

"And?"

"The proverbial chicken appears to have flown the coop."

"I'll be right there," Came the clipped reply, before the line went dead, and Adam was once again stowing his phone back inside his pocket so that he could move to exit Charlie's bedroom in favor of heading back downstairs. Although some part of him was still chafing over the obvious slight to his ego that Charlie's disappearing act had provoked, he had to hand it to her for possessing enough determination to make a break for it in spite of his presence, and the potential that the act alone had for ruining her chances at getting out of this without jail time. And in spite of the fact that he knew he was about to catch hell for something he honestly should have seen coming, Adam was not entirely willing to allow the impending cut-down to intimidate him, an expression not all that far from abject determination taking over his features as he returned to the den, and sat down to wait for the inevitable.

Regardless of his apprehension, he would not have it said that he met the ire of his superior with anything less than a brave face.

…


	7. Chapter 7

Despite her relief over having managed to gain her freedom from her father's house even in spite of the obvious guard dog he had placed their to keep her in one place, Charlie could not help but feel sorry for the man she had left behind, particularly in light of how she knew he would be the one to face her father's disappointment and frustration long before she ever would. She could picture it clearly in her mind—her father's face as he stormed through the front door, barking out orders and demanding to know what the hell had happened before he had even taken three steps over the threshold. Adam Ruzek was not likely to have an easy afternoon and evening because of what she had done. And although she could persuade herself to at least acknowledge her guilt over that very fact, such as it was, Charlie was not about to allow it to force her to turn back, her hands jamming inside her jacket pockets in search of warmth as she jogged across the street before the blinking light could turn a solid red.

She would be damned if she went and got herself flattened by a car just when she had managed to regain her freedom…

Suppressing a grin at the thought, in spite of how it was realistically very far from funny, Charlie hurried down the street and ducked into a side-alley, the distinct smell of rotting food scraps and other debris causing her to wrinkle her nose as she moved. Her feet seemed to move on instinct, tracing the steps she had taken for the very first time what felt like ages ago, when Mack had shown her the place they were to meet if the law ever tried to separate them. They had a place like it in every city they had lived in thus far. Somewhere to reunite and slip away before a more permanent separation were to befall them. And although some small part of her wondered if she was a fool for sending him the text to tell him she was coming here, rather than staying in her father's house and hoping he would actually stand a chance of getting her out of this himself, Charlie all but refused to acknowledge it and give in to the doubt it provided, instead choosing to grit her teeth and hurry towards the end of the alleyway until she came out into the narrow lane beyond.

Left or right?

Motionless for a moment, Charlie glanced first one way, and then the next, her brow furrowing as she did what she could to think back to the last time she had come this way. Despite her best efforts, doing so only seemed to darken her mood, as though some sort of instinctive sense of foreboding was aware that her efforts would prove futile, no matter how she might wish otherwise. Though she had tried to avoid it, her father's words seemed to echo over and over in her head, telling her this was a sign. That the only reason she had been scooped up and retained in custody for as long as she had was a clear indication that Mack had left her behind.

She knew that if she did nothing save for continue thinking along those lines, she would easily lose her mind.

Shaking herself before she could do exactly that, Charlie turned on a heel and headed left, her boots splashing in puddles of rain water that had not yet evaporated beneath the heat of the sun above. A frown marred her features as she moved, as though in spite of her efforts, her body had already concluded that she was on her own. But of course, stubborn determination to prove herself—her father—everyone that seemed to doubt her wrong won out, at least for the time being, speeding her steps and causing any who might have attempted to draw her into conversation as she passed reason to forgo the effort entirely and keep to themselves.

To say that she was anything other than grateful for that very fact would have been a lie.

Still, Charlie could not entirely shake the notion that she was committing an act without true purpose, even as she pushed through the foot traffic on the sidewalk before her until she neared the corner she sought. Without hesitation, she turned once again, taking the steps that cropped up almost as soon as she had done so two at a time until she reached the top. And although she once again found herself thinking back to the man she had left behind to face her father's wrath, she could not help but feel some small sense of relief once the place she and Mack had chosen came into sight, her steps only quickening while she simultaneously glanced about her surroundings to ensure she was not being watched.

Mack had always made it perfectly clear that if either of them perceived the slightest hint of a tail, they would leave immediately, and return another day, at another time. Absolutely nothing was worth the price of getting caught.

Not even their own life.

With such a thought in mind, Charlie headed towards a bench that was situated beneath a large clocktower, her gaze constantly perusing the surrounding area as she moved. Nothing seemed to stand out, though in the back of her mind the thought remained that if any of her father's men were searching here, they would very likely succeed in keeping out of sight.

If only she could forget that particular thought as quickly as it had come to mind.

Determined to ignore it, if it would not leave her mind completely, Charlie closed the distance between herself and the bench as quickly as she could, a shaky breath escaping as she took a seat, and glanced back at the way from which she had come. It did not appear that she had been followed, at least for the time-being—and although she knew that it was foolish, Charlie could not help but force herself to acknowledge the vague sense of relief that came along with the thought, her posture relaxing just a bit as she settled in to wait.

She would deal with what came next if Mack did not make an appearance at a later time.

…

"This her, Mack?" Anton asked, tossing his cell towards the man in question, and watching as he flipped it open to glance at the texted photograph on the screen for only a matter of seconds before he replied.

"Yeah. That's her."

"Want me to tell Jimmy to scoop her up?"

A moment's silence passed between the two men in response to the inquiry, though if asked at a later time, Mack would have denied its existence entirely. In truth, he was still more than a little surprised that he and Charlie had made it this far, when none of the other girls he had gotten involved with had possessed her apparent tenacity and determination. But before he could get too distracted by where such thoughts might take him, Mack snapped the phone shut and tossed it back to Anton, his tone curt as he cleared his throat in preparation for his reply.

"Yeah. Bring her in."

"How you want it done? Same as before?" Anton inquired, aware of the obvious tightening in his partner's expression, and quirking a brow in response despite knowing that such a thing was perhaps not very wise, "Look, it's a valid question."

"No one touches a hair on her head, Anton. You got that?"

"Want to do that part yourself?"

Before he was even fully aware of it, Mack had Anton pinned against the nearby wall, one arm at his throat while the other latched onto the gun at his belt to place it against the other man's stomach. Almost immediately, Anton's grey eyes had widened, the pressure of the weapon against his stomach causing him to lift both hands in an open gesture of surrender. And although he was fairly certain that Mack was not about to do what it appeared he was, the younger man would have been a fool to pretend that he did not feel the faintest sparks of fear, regardless, self-preservation prompting him to remain absolutely still until the anger had begun to subside from his partner's eyes, and the gun was withdrawn from its position against his abdomen bit by bit.

"No one touches a hair on her head. Just bring her in."

Aware of his partner's apparent downturn in mood, Anton simply nodded in response to his newest set of instructions, his attention going to his phone as he moved to the doorway, and prepared to exit the room. He knew what it would mean for him if this grab went wrong. And yet, despite that awareness, he was also well aware of what would happen if they failed, his attention turning to dialing the number he knew would place Jimmy at the other end of the line, only a single ring transpiring before a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"Yeah."

"We've got her. Boss wants you to bring her in. Unharmed."

"That word has a rather broad definition in my experience," Jimmy rasped, a chuckle escaping, and sending shivers down Anton's spine no matter how much he tried to avoid it, "You got the when and where?"

"Yeah. Let me know when your pen and paper's ready."

"Haven't you learned by now, Anton? They're always ready."

Leave it to Mack to have a man notorious for literally living for his job only a phone call away…

…

"Boss, I'm sorry—"

"How the hell did she get out?" Voight cut in, his attention fixed on Ruzek, despite the fact that they stood in Charlie's old room, the remains of what must have been an intriguing childhood surrounding them while the rookie hurried to reply.

"Through that window. And a rather conveniently placed tree."

"A tree I should've cut down years ago."

"She make a habit of doing this before?" Ruzek inquired, a wince passing over his features almost immediately after speaking in response to the sharp look he encountered from Voight in response, "Sarge, I only meant—"

"Yeah. Yeah, she's done this before."

"Any idea where she might've gone when she did?"

"She was in high school then, Ruzek. I doubt she went to the same place, now," Voight bit out, moving towards the window to peer out at the ground below, and holding back a sigh of resignation as he shut and locked the window once again and turned back to face the newest addition to the Intelligence Unit to address him once more, "Get Antonio and Halstead out here. Have Olinsky call me when they arrive."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Somewhere that, if she is there, she won't want anyone else intruding."

Before Ruzek could say or do anything to stop him, Voight had headed back down the stairs, the sound of the front door opening, and closing once more within seconds alerting him to the fact that, but for Alvin's presence downstairs, he was once again alone. In truth, he was surprised that his superior had not lingered there longer, if for no other reason than to lay into him about how brilliantly he had failed in the one simple task he had been given. But regardless of how he felt about Voight's rather abrupt departure, Adam was not foolish enough to pretend he was not grateful, his attention turning back to the décor in Charlie's room as a means of both distraction, and insight into where she might have gone as well.

If nothing else, gaining a little more information about what the obviously troubled young woman was like, even if that information was a few years old, might help him come up with a way of finding her now, and clearing his name, as a result…

Despite his hopes of finding something that might prove useful, however, Adam found himself faced with nothing more than mementos of a life long past, the pictures of Charlie with her friends, and jewelry and clothing long forgotten giving him nothing to go on save for the impression that the young woman had left home in what must have been a hurry, never looking back. It was no secret that she harbored uncertain feelings towards her father, even in the best of times, the relative lack of photographs showing the two of them in the same vicinity giving even further proof to a relationship that had clearly often been strained. But perhaps what surprised him more than the clear lack of a bond between father and daughter was the absence of any evidence of Charlie's relationship with her mother, as well—

He knew as well as anyone else the circumstances of her passing, but he would have believed that if Charlie had kept her father at a distance that perhaps she would have had her mother on her side, instead.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Still, it seemed curious that Charlie would have distanced herself from both of her parents, especially at such a young age, and given the fact that Hank Voight hardly seemed the sort to allow anything but the most forthcoming of behaviors from his own child. And although he was half tempted to give the room a second going-over in the hopes of finding something that could give some insight into where Charlie might have gone, Adam forced himself to turn back toward the stairs so he could rejoin Alvin in the den below, a frown marring his features as he took in how the older man was regarding him as one might a dog they were about to put down.

"Don't look at me like that, Al. I know I messed up."

"You did more than that, kid. Don't think you've heard the end of it just because Voight left."

"What did he expect me to do? Go in there and watch her take her clothes off?"

"He expected you to keep her here," Olinsky said, watching with interest as the younger man took a seat on the sofa, and slumped so that his head could rest in his hands, "She was in the wind for years, and now she might end up that way again, or worse."

"Or worse? What the hell are you talking about?" Ruzek asked, glancing at his would-be partner, and noting that Olinsky's expression seemed far more serious than it might have been if Voight's anger were the only thing they faced at the current moment, "You think this guy'll come after her?"

"He'd be an idiot if he didn't. He's managed to evade the police for this long, and he can't have done that by being stupid."

"I heard Voight mention something about him having other women. Before he came upstairs—"

"It's a theory we're working on," Alvin confirmed, running a hand across his exhausted features, and shifting so that he could lean with his back against the wall while he faced his colleague head-on, "Some of the cities with reports on similar activity to what Charlie was doing for this guy while she was still in Chicago."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, kid."

"You think he'd actually hurt her?"

"Kind of hard to think otherwise. She knows too much. And if he finds out who she's related to—"

A beat of silence existed between them in the wake of Alvin's words, their lack of reliable knowledge regarding this man's whereabouts and motivations doing nothing to assuage the sudden tension that had taken over the room as a result of what was being discussed. Both of them knew what could happen if Alvin's fears were in fact closer to the mark than they thought, just as they knew it would serve as ample explanation for why Voight had allowed Adam to escape relatively unscathed, at least for the moment, after allowing his daughter to disappear right beneath his nose. If he thought it more prudent to find Charlie, and deal with Adam's transgression at a later point, it hinted that he was inclined to believe Olinsky's suspicions were right. And if that were true—

"If he finds out who she's related to, she's dead."

Adam knew that his mistake might end up costing them in more ways than one.

…

After what felt like ages sitting on the bench, and finding no evidence to prove that Mack would come for her, Charlie found herself finally forced to the conclusion that she was every bit as alone as her father had intimated when he first took her in, her shoulders slumping in disappointment despite her efforts to prevent the act in its entirety. She could look around at her surroundings all she liked, she supposed, as though determined to remain rooted to the spot until her foolish dreams came true. But at the end of the day, which was so obviously drawing near, if the pink tinge to the sky as the sun started to sink beneath the horizon were any indication, she would still have nothing more to show for her efforts at loyalty and steadfast resolve than she had possessed when she had first woken up—a reality that had her dashing at an errant tear or two as they stung at the backs of her eyes before attempting to make the trek down her cheeks, and rose to stand in spite of the protest of her long-dormant muscles.

One final glance served as the would-be nail in the coffin of her hope that Mack would meet her here, her expression hardening as she squared her shoulders and began to retreat towards the way from which she had come earlier that day. In truth, she did not know whether it would be wiser to return to her father's home, or to simply strike out on her own, and hope for the best. She had no money to speak of. No clothes, save for the ones upon her back. And although she was loath to give her father the satisfaction of knowing that he was right, Charlie would have been a fool to pretend that she could make it very far without some manner of assistance, no matter what that help might do to wound her already shattered pride.

She knew very well that if she attempted to seek aid from the wrong sort of person in this city, she could end up worse off than she already was.

With that type of thought lingering in her mind, Charlie forced herself to continue down the steps that had led her to the bench, her hands once again seeking refuge inside her jacket pockets while her eyes remained riveted upon the ground. It would have been a lie for her to pretend that she desired nothing more than to somehow gain the ability to simply sink into the ground, before she returned to the scrutiny that surely awaited her at home. But she was equally as reluctant to spend the night alone, no matter how she might pretend to enjoy distancing herself from anyone and everyone that got close enough to her to care. And it was that feeling in and of itself that prompted her to fish her cell from her pocket and bring it to her ear after dialing the familiar number, in hopes that her old friend would not have gotten a new cell in the years since they had last been in touch.

Although Erin Lindsay was one of her father's inner circle, now, Charlie knew that she could trust her to keep silent regarding her whereabouts until she was ready to have them disclosed…

…

The sound of her cell phone ringing from inside her pants pocket pulled Erin out of her internal musings with a start, one glance at the screen prompting her to furrow her brow as she tried and failed to recognize the number. For a moment, she was half-tempted to simply allow the call to go to voicemail, particularly as she would have been better served by paying attention to what was going on right in front of her. But whether it was instinct, or something stronger, Erin was not blind to the sudden sense of urgency she felt as she attempted to stow her phone away once more, thus choosing instead to make an apologetic gesture to Voight before she was stepping into the kitchen that adjoined the foyer and den of his home to take the call as quietly as she dared.

"Hello?"

"I can't believe you kept the same number all these years—"

"Charlie?!"

"The one and only," The familiar voice quipped, what might have passed for a laugh crossing the line before it was disappearing in favor of something far more urgent, instead, "Are you alone?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Is my dad with you?"

"No. He's in the other room," Erin supplied, glancing back at the room in question, and stepping just a bit farther into the kitchen in hopes it would muffle whatever parts of her conversation made it through to that area of the house, "I take it you don't want him to know about this."

"You know me too well," Charlie confirmed, her tone almost unreadable as she exhaled on the other end of the line before going on, "I—Erin, I need to ask you a favor."

"Anything."

"Can I—stay with you for a couple days?"

"What, and keep it a secret? How long do you think that would last?"

"Long enough for me to get back on my feet and get the hell out of town."

"And when your dad kicks ass for helping you to do that?" Erin pressed, half amused at Charlie's tenacity, and half frustrated that she was trying to drag her into her plan, as well, despite how they had gotten each other into equal shares of trouble growing up, "Listen, we're just trying to keep you safe."

"And I can be safe. But I can't—I can't do that here. I can't, Erin, so if I don't have your help—"

"You'll leave on your own."

The silence on the other end of the line was enough of a conversation, even if Charlie had decided to give a verbal reply as well, the sense of urgency she had felt at the initiation of the call only growing as she glanced towards the other room once more, and allowed herself the smallest satisfaction that she had not been followed, at least for the time-being. Truthfully, she did not know how long she had before one of the men decided to come looking for her, just as she did not know how long she could stall before Charlie gave up and was lost to them for good. And so, in spite of her own misgivings, Erin forced herself to turn her attention back to the call at hand, her next words carrying far more certainty than she thought they had any right to under the circumstances.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Where else?"

"Sounds good to me," Charlie acknowledged, something in her tone indicating her amusement over the prospect of returning to one of their favorite haunts as teens, though Erin could not see the proof upon her face, "I can be there in five."

"I'll try to do the same," Erin replied, running a hand through her hair, and leaning against the kitchen counter for a moment before going on, "And Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"No side trips. We'll go from there, straight to my place. Nothing in between."

Whether Charlie would or wouldn't have agreed to those terms, Erin never knew, as the next sound she heard was a muffled shriek before the line went dead, and she was left in the silence of the kitchen on her own. She only lingered there a moment, her heart pounding in her ears while she clutched at the countertop until her legs no longer felt like they were about to give way beneath her, knowing full well that calling Charlie's name repeatedly as she had been half-tempted to do would prove of no more use to her than attempting to dial the number her friend had called from, to see if she would pick up. And then she was heading back into the den with her cell still clutched tightly in her right hand, her voice rising over the chatter that was transpiring there in her absence so that she could be heard, while her eyes immediately sought and held Voight's.

"We have a problem…"

No matter his reaction to her attempt at a secret conversation with his daughter, Erin knew that Voight had every right to know that she might be in more danger now than she had been before.

…


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie came to an unknown amount of time later, a soft groan escaping her lips as she realized the vivid pounding at her temples was coming from inside her skull. A quick glance at her surroundings gave her no inclination of exactly where she was, or who had brought her here. And although she would have been a fool to pretend that she was not frightened at the prospect of exactly what kind of mess she had gotten herself into now, she was simultaneously determined to put on a strong front, regardless.

Knowing what she did about what her father did for a living, she knew playing the part of the damsel in distress would only get her so far…

With that thought in mind, Charlie began the attempt at sitting upright, only to find that the act caused both of her shoulders to emit faint pops in protest, while spasms of pain shot down her arms to where her wrists were bound behind her back. Slumping back down on the bed, she gave an experimental squirm of her wrists to test the strength of those bonds, only to find that the act causes the material to dig into her skin in such a way that a hiss escaped before she could stop it. Unbidden, the sting of tears pricked at her eyes, forcing her to blink them away rapidly before they began to fall, and she found herself unable to maintain even the slightest façade of strength. And half in an effort to distract herself from her own anxiety, Charlie forced her attention to shift to the room she appeared to be locked in, instead, its utter lack of familiarity troubling, to say the least.

She could remember listening to her father talking about how a case could hinge on even the smallest of identifiers in location where a hostage was being held when she was just a little girl. It was something that she and her brother had used when they would reenact make believe crime scenes, and see which one of them could solve the mystery first. And yet now, when she needed it the most, she could find absolutely nothing distinguishable about this particular room, save for the cracking paint that spiderwebbed along the wall nearest the covered window, that could be identical to any other wall in any other house in disrepair.

Whatever she could or could not discern about the room in which she was being held, however, Charlie knew one thing for certain—she had vastly overestimated her ability to make it on her own. Whether she had been grabbed by some unknown rival of Mack's that he had not deigned fit to make her privy to, or by someone entirely random, she knew she had very little time to discern a successful plan of escape…

Though at the time, she had barely been certain what she'd heard, now that she had returned to consciousness, Charlie could hear the words growling into her ear as though the man who had clapped the damp rag over her mouth and nose were still standing by her side.

"Time's up, bitch. You've reached the end of the road."

In response to the memory of the voice echoing in her head, Charlie was entirely unable to resist the shiver that shook her frame, no matter how fiercely she wished to avoid it, a shaky sigh escaping as she squirmed around on the bed until she could see the door to the room she had been placed in. It, like the rest of the room, was relatively nondescript, its surface only marred by the occasional knick or scratch that indicated it had been slammed open often enough to bounce against the coat rack hanging on the wall behind it. But although Charlie was more than a little frustrated upon finding there was absolutely nothing she could see in the room itself that might give her a hint of exactly where she was, she was still determined to do whatever she could to rectify that situation as best she could.

It would hurt like hell trying to force herself upright in order to get over to the window for a peek outside, but if that was what it took to get out of this alive, she would do it a hundred times over even in spite of the pain.

Steeled by the thought, Charlie gritted her teeth and set to the task of attempting to right herself, regardless of the protest of the muscles in her shoulders and back, a soft groan escaping in spite of her desire to avoid it as she continued to shift until she could lever herself up on an elbow, and use that momentum to sit erect not long thereafter. From there, it was relatively simple to stand, and move as carefully and quietly as she could towards the window at the opposite end of the room, using her shoulder to nudge the blinds over so that she could attempt to catch a glimpse of the landscape immediately outside. From her current vantage point, she could make out a street corner not far from her current location, the flickering of the light atop the pole on that corner illuminating the surrounding area in fits and spurts. Clearly, she was not being held in what might be considered a good part of town, if the graffitied walls, and derelict buildings were any indication. But before she could perform anything more than a cursory investigation of what little she could see of her surroundings from the window she stood beside, the door of the room she had been stowed in was slamming open, the sound of the impact causing her to jump despite the fact that she had known this moment would come all along.

"So—you're awake," The familiar voice began, the obvious indifference in Mack's tone causing a chill to race down Charlie's spine as she turned to face him, and did what she could to avoid allowing the betrayal that knifed at her heart to show upon her features, "And trying to plan an escape, from the looks of it."

"Maybe I'm just taking in the scenery," Charlie quipped, watching carefully as Mack took the liberty of shutting the door behind him, and taking a half a step back as he moved farther into the room not long after, "You going to tell me what the hell it is we're doing, here?"

"Tying up loose ends, Charlie. You know how it is."

"Why here? Why now? I haven't told anyone a thing about what it was we were doing, Mack—"

"That doesn't mean that you wouldn't," Mack countered, effectively closing the distance between them, and consequently forcing Charlie to back into the wall, where her palms flattened against the surface in search of something—anything she could find to steady her fraying nerves, "The way I see it, it's only a matter of time until you decided to come clean. And I can't let that happen."

"It won't happen," Charlie protested, silently cursing the way in which her voice cracked in mid-sentence, and yet still finding the wherewithal to persuade herself to look Mack in the eye, regardless, "Come on, baby—you know you can trust me."

"Can I? Because you somehow neglected to mention that your father was a cop."

"I—how—"

"How did I know? I have my ways," Mack replied, one hand lifting to cup Charlie's cheek, despite how she flinched at the sensation of his skin brushing against her own, "My money is leaning towards you working for dear old dad all along."

"You're wrong."

"Bold of you to assume I would ever believe a word that came out of your mouth again."

"You should," Charlie stated, attempting to pull away from the touch of Mack's hand against her cheek, only to find that the gesture prompted him to drop the hand and curl his fingers lightly around her neck, instead, "My dad and I aren't exactly what you would call close."

"Close or not, if it meant saving your own ass, I have no doubt you wouldn't sell me to the highest bidder. And I'll be damned if I let that happen without retribution."

"Then you're taking your retribution out on the wrong person. If the police know anything about you, it wasn't from me."

"Have you forgotten, Charlie? The first move a rat makes is to pin that title on somebody else," Mack hissed, his fingers tightening their hold on his smaller companion's throat just a bit, while he simultaneously crowded her back against the wall such that his torso brushed against the fabric of her shirt, "I'm not falling for it. Not even from you."

"So, what are you going to do, Mack? Kill me?" Charlie inquired, swallowing in an attempt to minimize the panic that seemed all but determined to choke her, and frowning as the gesture only seemed to prompt Mack to tighten his hold upon her throat, "If you really think I told my father about us, how do you know he's not going to show up before you can do a thing to stop it?"

"Because as soon as I take care of you, we're leaving, babe. You know me well enough to see that coming."

"You seem to have given this a fair bit of thought."

"I wouldn't have been in this business as long as I have without it," Mack retorted, a half-smile turning up one corner of his mouth as he cocked his head to the side and regarded his would-be prisoner for a moment before going on, "Though it seems like such a waste getting rid of someone like you."

"Maybe you don't have to."

"Trust me, Charlie, no matter how much fun you are in bed, I'm not going to risk going to prison just to keep you alive."

"Why don't you just go ahead and get it over with, then? I'm not inclined to wait around, and I know you well enough to realize you don't enjoy dragging things out."

"This time Charlie, I think I might postpone the inevitable just a bit," Mack said, abandoning his hold on Charlie's throat in favor of allowing his hand to drift back towards her cheek before going on, "After what you did to me, leading me on like that, I think it's only fair."

"I wasn't leading you on, Mack. Not really," Charlie protested, once again forced to acknowledge the obvious crack in her voice, and doing what she could to ensure that her plea did not come off as too desperate, even in light of the fact that desperation was precisely what she was feeling at this particular moment, especially in the face of Mack's resultant reply.

"You were, babe. But don't worry. Lying sluts always get theirs, in the end…"

This would not be the first time Mack had been forced to put someone down because they had betrayed him, and it likely would not be the last.

…

"Were you able to trace the call?" Erin Lindsay inquired, coming to stand behind Jin's chair, and leaning over his shoulder to get a closer look at what had appeared upon his computer screen while waiting for his reply.

"I was. Though I'm not too sure it will do us any good, now."

"Why?"

"Because from what I can see based on the camera feeds, as soon as that call cut out, Charlie was gone."

"Maybe she left something behind?" Erin pressed, aware of the almost pitying look that Jin was leveling her way, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of attempting to plead her case, "Did you get a look at any other cameras in the area? They could give us a hint of where she might have been taken—"

"Whoever did take her knew that, Erin. The other cameras were already put on a loop before our girl ever arrived."

"So we have nothing to go on. Nothing at all."

"Unless you end up finding something when you go to the location yourself," Jin agreed, aware that his comrade was taking this lack of encouraging news rather personally, and choosing to turn in the swivel chair he occupied so that he could face her, head-on before speaking further, "I trust you're already intending on doing that."

"Yeah. I am. I just—"

"You blame yourself for not trying to locate her on your own, before this could have happened."

"Something like that," Erin admitted, her brow furrowing as she fought against the sudden surge of guilt she felt over her own role, or lack thereof, in Charlie's current predicament. Since her own unorthodox induction into the Voight family, the two of them had been like sisters, the welcoming enthusiasm that Charlie had shown her upon her arrival rather effectively forcing down any barrier Erin may have sought to erect to keep herself at a safe distance to avoid getting hurt. She had never expected such a thing, any more than she might have anticipated finding a place for herself on Hank Voight's unit years after the fact. But her lingering surprise over her current situation notwithstanding, Erin would be damned if she turned her back on Charlie now, no matter how unlikely the chances of finding her may seem at the present time, determination prompting her to square her shoulders as she glanced back towards Jin for another moment, before breaking the silence between them once more.

"Tell Voight where I'm going. I'll call if I find anything substantial."

"You aren't going anywhere alone, Erin."

Turning in response to the unexpected sound of Hank Voight's voice coming from the doorway behind her, Erin pivoted on a heel to face her superior head-on, her expression unreadable as she did what she could to search his own features in an attempt at determining his current mindset. Of course, it was no secret to her that the relationship between Hank and Charlie was strained. That it had been, ever since they had buried his wife, and watched, helpless, as a son and brother got sent to jail. But no matter the tension that existed between father and daughter, Erin knew that her superior would move heaven and earth to get Charlie back to them safely…

It would have been a lie to pretend that she did not almost find herself looking forward to the prospect of his penchant for breaking the rules, particularly as far as this case was concerned.

"If they had enough sense to loop the cameras, they might keep a watch on them after the fact, to see if anyone comes looking," She suggested, her expression indicating almost immediately that her words appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, though that did not seem to be enough to prevent Voight from verbalizing his lack of concern for that very fact, regardless.

"I'm hoping they do. If this asshole had the nerve to abduct my daughter, I want him to know exactly what it is that's coming for him."

"You sure that won't put her in more danger?" Erin inquired, already moving to follow after Voight as he turned from the doorframe, and headed towards the stairs that would lead to the ground floor of the precinct with her following along behind.

"I'm hoping it provokes this guy into something reckless," Voight countered, glancing at Erin as she fell into step beside him, and registering her skeptical expression before she could rearrange her features into something more akin to neutral curiosity, "He gets pissed, does something stupid, and we get him before he can regroup."

"Alright, I'm in. But how do you plan to explain the dead body of the guy who orchestrated this whole thing once we catch up to him?"

"Who says there's gonna be a dead body?"

"Come on, Hank, you really expect me to believe you're not going to end this guy once we catch up to him?" Erin began, following after her superior as they stepped outside the precinct, and made their way towards the parking lot not long after, "I just want to know what the plan is for taking care of loose ends after the fact."

"I've got it covered," Voight assured, reaching for the keys inside his jacket pocket, and withdrawing them in one fluid motion, before turning back to Erin to issue one final directive.

"Call Ruzek and Olinsky. Let them know where we're headed, and to stand by in case we find a lead."

If they did manage to defy the odds and locate anything that would lead them to where Charlie had been taken, he wanted to move quickly, before the bastards who nabbed her caught on and vanished without a trace…

…

Left alone, save for the occasional visits from one of Mack's men to give her what passed for food, or to allow her to use the restroom, Charlie found it increasingly difficult to avoid succumbing to the panic that seemed to claw at her gut, her eyes darting around the room she had been stowed away in for what felt like the hundredth time while she remained seated upon the bed, utterly at a loss for what to do next. In truth, she was still more than a little rattled over Mack's very obvious threat, and the fact that he seemed inclined to believe that she actually wanted to give him up to her father, and his unit. And although she knew that she had very little time left to come up with a way out of this, if such a thing even existed, Charlie was entirely incapable of focusing on anything save for the fact that she had been a fool for attempting to leave her father's protection in the first place.

She had not wanted to be beholden to him, especially given how poorly their last encounter had gone, prior to her departure from Chicago. But now, when she was forced to face the consequences of her own stubborn pride, Charlie had come face to face with the fact that, when push came to shove, she would have been better off in her father's care, regardless of the pain that such a realization inflicted as a whole.

With a sigh, Charlie leaned back against the wall beside the bed, her legs moving to cross beneath her, while her hands still remained tethered behind her back. She was not ignorant of the fact that the tips of her fingers had already started going numb, just as she did not pretend to be blind to the idea that her current immobility might very well be her downfall. But even though she knew she really ought to be doing something to improve her odds, she could not entirely prevent herself from getting caught up in her own tumultuous feelings as they pertained to her father, himself, a shaky breath escaping as she allowed her head to thump against the wall, her eyes closing almost of their own accord, while her hands subconsciously flexed against their bindings in the same motion.

It hadn't always been this—off—between them. In fact, they had once been rather close, though anyone not privy to their former lives would never have believed it, to look at them now. She could remember trailing after her father when she was younger, babbling on about whatever mundane events her day had possessed, and demanding to know every last detail of his own work, in response. A part of her had even admired his chosen career, more often than not choosing to rook her brother into playing a rousing game of 'cops and robbers' whenever they both had a free moment away from school, and their own group of friends on a Sunday afternoon. But ever since her mother had gotten sick, it was as though a barrier had been erected between them, the stress brought on by watching treatment after treatment fail forcing them apart when they should have been getting closer together, instead.

Camille Voight's death had only served to further the distance between the two of them, though Charlie had spent countless years trying to convince herself that the fault was not entirely her own. She had tried, or so she thought, to be there for her father, hoping that their shared grief would repair whatever damage the countless chemo treatments had done to their relationship in the process. But Hank Voight had thrown himself into his work, instead of turning to his daughter and son, and whether he had intended it or not, that act alone had done more to convince Charlie that she was truly on her own than anything he had ever done before.

Unbidden, the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes forced Charlie to shake her head minutely and attempt to redirect her thoughts back to the moment at hand, the sensation of one tiny drop of moisture sliding down her cheek provoking her to an almost irrational anger, given its relative impotence as it pertained to her current situation. Acting rashly, or out of desperation, was sure to lead her down only one path, and not the one that she wanted to be on, at all.

Why, then, was she so damned tempted to do whatever she could to get Mack back in this room with her, if for no other reason than to provoke him into giving her some answers before he ended it all in one fell swoop?

Biting down on her lip in hopes that the pain would distract her from doing anything stupid, Charlie chose to attempt focusing on the sounds, or lack thereof, around her instead, in hopes that by doing so, she might be able to discern exactly what it was that her companions were up to outside of the room she had been stowed in. From the muted voices that did manage to reach her ears, she was able to surmise that Mack and his men did not appear to feel any particular rush to be moving on, the muffled sound of some tune or another from a commercial on television registering in her ears around the unintelligible conversation going on a mere few feet away. And, no matter the mild encouragement that such a realization may have provided, Charlie still found herself fighting against the roiling anxiety that threatened to take over her thoughts, a shaky sigh escaping as she forced herself to open her eyes once again despite the fact that a small part of her seemed to think she would be better off remaining blind to all that surrounded her.

As it turned out, opening her eyes was the best decision she could have made, given the circumstances, the sudden perception of a shadow blocking out the light shining into the room from the space between the carpeting and the bottom of the closed door allowing her to remain motionless as whoever stood on the other side forced it open, and stepped inside without a word. It did not take long for the man's eyes to meet Charlie's, the expression riveted upon his face chilling, to say the least, though she did what she could to remain stoic as he shoved the door closed behind him, and stepped slowly towards the bed.

"Boss says it's time for us to move," He ground out, closing the distance between them in no time, and reaching out with a calloused hand to curl long fingers around her arm so that he could yank her upright in the same motion, despite the low whimper that the rough gesture provoked in response, "Come on. Move your ass."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Charlie griped, wincing at the tight grip that the man had upon her upper arm, while simultaneously scrambling to use the fingers of her right hand to tug at the ring that was secured upon the index finger of her left. It was a last-ditch effort, she knew, and one that might not even pan out, if her father and his team were unable to trace her to this location in the first place. But as she succeeded in freeing the ring from her finger, and dropping it onto the floor at her back, Charlie could not help but succumb to the hope that her attempt at leaving something with which to confirm her presence here would not prove to be futile, after all…

If nothing else, were her father to set foot in the bedroom that she had been kept in, no matter how briefly, Charlie knew he would not fail to notice that the ring left haphazardly upon the floor was the very same one her mother had given her on the last birthday they shared before she died.

…


	9. Chapter 9

"Sarge—got something," Erin began, jogging over to where Voight was standing beside a bench, hands in his pockets while he kept a vigilant glance trained upon their surroundings, "A lady walking her dog claims to have seen someone matching Charlie's description sitting on that bench before she was taken away by a guy wearing a hoodie and dark jeans."

"Where is she now?"

"Over by that tree. I told her to stay put, until you questioned her, yourself."

"Good," Voight replied, turning from the bench, and heading towards the aforementioned tree with Lindsay right at his side, "She have any idea where they might've gone?"

"No specifics. But she does have a description of the vehicle."

"Have Jin on standby. As soon as we get that description, I want him running plates," Voight ordered, aware of Erin's almost automatic nod in agreement, before redirecting his attention toward the woman standing just a few feet away, hands wringing anxiously while she waited. Clearly, his approach had only made her that much more on edge, given the all too likely reality of the barely concealed anger that was held in his expression. But, regardless of her apparent unease, Voight never once thought to alter his demeanor, the need to find Charlie's location sooner, rather than later, pressing him to step forward until he was standing directly before this supposed witness, his tone dictating that it would go poorly for her, if anything she were to tell him was not true.

"Sergeant Hank Voight, Intelligence. What did you see?"

"The—the girl was over there, on that bench," The woman began, her gaze shifting from Voight's own, to down by their feet where her dog—a Pekingese—was sniffing energetically at the newcomer's boots, "She was alone, and it—it looked like she was waitin' for somebody."

"And the man that approached her?"

"He was—he was in jeans and a hoodie. Like I told your partner."

"How did he take her?" Voight pressed, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he did what he could to prepare for whatever it was this witness was about to tell him. He was aware, of course, of how Erin hovered at his side, as though expecting him to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. But, regardless of how that reality only served to make him more on edge than he already was, Voight remained entirely focused upon the woman standing before him, his gaze never wavering as she lifted her eyes to meet his own once more before she spoke.

"He had a rag. Put it over her mouth, and then took her to the car."

"What car?"

"A blue Suburban. Tinted windows, and tricked out rims on the tires."

"What about a license plate? You get a look at that?"

"Only a few letters," The woman admitted, once again taking up the act of wringing her hands as she took in the darkening of Voight's features, and bit her lip for a moment before continuing, "AB 84—that's all I got."

"It's enough. What direction were they headed?"

"East. Or at least they were until I lost sight of 'em."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Voight stated, turning from the stunned woman as quickly as he had arrived, and heading back towards the direction from which he had come, despite the fact that Erin had remained behind for a moment to offer the witness a more genuine response for her efforts. Naturally, he was well-aware that the lead he had just been granted was not much. That if Jin was unable to trace the plates on the vehicle, or if they had been switched to a car other than the one they truly belonged to, the information the woman had given him would be rendered useless in mere moments. But the determination to find his daughter all but forced him to cling to that lead as though it was the best hope he had, his teeth grinding together in an entirely unsuccessful attempt at relieving his edginess while he simultaneously heard the sound of hurried footsteps that indicated Erin was nearing his side once more.

"Think this will pan out?" She inquired, something of the very same desperation he was feeling making its way into the inquiry, and causing her voice to shake a bit in mid-sentence, as a result.

"I think we owe it to ourselves, and to Charlie, to follow through."

"Okay. I'll get Jin on the line right now," Erin supplied, digging into the back pocket of her jeans for her cell, only to find that Hank had already withdrawn his own, and brought it to his ear before she even had the chance, "Or not."

"Jin—need you to run a plate," Voight instructed, holding out a hand to stall Erin in the act of obtaining her own phone, and continuing the trek towards where he had parked the squad car upon their initial arrival, with her following along at his heels, "Alpha, bravo, eight-four. That's all we've got."

In lieu of awaiting a reply in the affirmative, Hank flipped the cell phone closed immediately after issuing the order and stowed it back in the safety of his jacket pocket, his attention once again shifting to the detective walking beside him as he did so. Her expression, he suspected, was almost identical to the one he wore, himself, the hand that was not hovering at the holster of her weapon curled into a tight fist at her side. And although he knew very well where that tension was coming from, particularly as it so precisely mirrored his own, Hank came to a stop beside the vehicle that had brought them to this location, his body effectively blocking her from opening the passenger side door, so that he could place one hand upon her shoulder before he spoke.

"Hey. I need to know you're going into this on all cylinders," He said, aware of the incredulous expression Erin had adopted in response to his statement, and moving to continue speaking before she could protest, "I can't have you going off, and risking a lead, or your own safety because you can't get your emotions in line."

"Seriously, Hank? You, of all people, are telling me to keep my head on straight?" Erin protested, backing away as she realized the man who had taken her under his wing all those years ago was now reaching for her, as though hoping to abate some of her anger with just a touch, "That's rich, seeing as we both know your first chance you're going to put this guy in the ground."

"That's me. Not you," Hank advised, dropping his hand back to his side, and watching as Erin processed what he had just said for a moment before going on, "If this goes south, I don't want anyone else going down with me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not stupid enough to think that if we get this guy, IA isn't going to be all over the outcome. And I'm not about to take a good cop down with me just because she won't tell me right now if she's too close to this for comfort."

"What makes you think I won't want to be right there with you when you take this prick down?" Erin demanded, hands on her hips as she eyed the man standing between her, and her way into the vehicle as though daring him to pretend she did not have every reason to want this asshole dead every bit as much as he did, himself, "What gives you the idea that I won't end him myself, if I get him first?"

"You aren't going to touch him. If he dies, you aren't going to be connected to this in any way," Voight replied, once again ignoring Erin's almost immediate move to protest, and finally stepping away from the passenger side door so that he could cross to the driver's side instead.

"You let me handle this, Erin. Let me lie for you, so I can protect you, just like always. This can't happen any other way."

Whether she agreed with his methods or not, Hank Voight would be damned if anyone on his team got caught in the crossfire as a direct result of the decision he knew he would eventually be forced to make.

…

"Any news?" Ruzek inquired, settling back in the passenger seat of the car he shared with Olinsky, and handing the older man a styrofoam cup filled to the brim with cheap gas-station coffee in the same motion. They had been camped out, so to speak, not all that far from the park where Voight and Lindsay had ventured to attempt finding a lead on Charlie's current location, for only an hour, or so, when the rookie had decided to stretch his legs. And now, regardless of the still-skeptical expression fixed upon his partner's face even in light of his return with coffee in tow, Adam somehow found himself capable of looking the man in the eye, the slight shake of the head Olinsky gave forcing him to release a sigh before he directed his attention to his own cup of coffee before dragging his free hand through his hair in abject frustration.

"They've got to come up with something."

"They don't have to do anything," Olinsky countered, taking a small sip of coffee, and grimacing against the bitter taste before looking at his newfound partner, and lifting a brow as though daring him to disagree, "You just want them to. It's not the same thing."

"Don't you? Want them to, I mean—"

"Of course I do. But around here, you learn pretty early on that what a cop wants, and what they get are often two very different things."

"So you don't think we stand a chance of getting her back," Adam accused, disbelief coloring his tone as he simultaneously fought against the guilt brought about by the thought that were it not for his own mistake, they might not be in this situation to begin with, "I gotta say, that's—that's cold, man."

"It isn't anything, one way or another, Ruzek. Quicker you learn that, the better. And I never said I didn't think we could get her back."

"But—"

"But nothing," Olinsky interrupted, placing his cup of coffee in the holder beside the console, and redirecting his attention towards the streets around them in an effort to keep himself alert in case the need to move quickly presented itself, "If I was in Voight's shoes, I'd move heaven and earth to see that we succeed."

"Why didn't you just say so, then?" Ruzek asked, following the line of his partner's gaze, and finding that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary seemed to make itself known in the immediate vicinity while his partner replied.

"Because I didn't think it had to be said."

Unable to come up with a fitting reply, Adam opted for remaining silent, at least for the moment, his own attention turning to the passenger side window while he fiddled with the Styrofoam cup held between his hands. In truth, he could not even begin to imagine what Voight was going through, with his daughter only God knew where, in the hands of a man that was all too likely to place self-preservation over her own well-being whenever he was given the chance. And although he still had his doubts about whether or not the man could remain impartial given the stakes that were already lined up against them, he also knew enough about the man to realize that he was perhaps the best person possible for the job at hand.

Even in the academy, it was well-known that Hank Voight got the job done, no matter what lines he had to cross to do it.

Still, Ruzek was not blind to the possibility that allowing the sergeant free reign over how this entire affair went down had its own risks, and it was for that very reason that he opted for breaking the silence between himself and his partner for a second time, the thumb of one hand digging a half-crescent indentation in the cup he held while he spoke.

"You think Voight's good with all this?"

"Are you really saying what I think you're saying, kid?"

"It's a legitimate question, Al. I just wonder if we're not risking him flying off the handle with this."

"The only one that's gonna be flying of the handle in this situation is me, if you keep askin' questions like the one you just did," Alvin quipped, ignoring Ruzek's almost immediate roll of the eyes in favor of glancing down at his cell where it buzzed against the seat between his legs, "You gonna be quiet long enough for me to take this call?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Good," Al acknowledged, reaching down for the phone, and bringing it to his ear after pressing the button to answer the call in the same motion, "Olinsky."

While his partner took the call, Adam once again allowed his attention to stray just a bit, one hand lifting the cup of coffee to his lips despite the fact he never once expected the taste of the liquid contained inside would be a pleasant one. Dimly, he could hear Alvin firing off questions at Voight on the other end of the line, just as he was aware of the older man's almost immediate move to place the keys inside the ignition and rev the car to life. But, regardless of that awareness, he was not entirely capable of pulling his thoughts from their constant mulling over what exactly stood to happen if Voight did get his hands on the man who had threatened his daughter, particularly as he was not entirely certain what scenario would be the worst…

One in which they got to Charlie before the man could hurt her, or the one in which Voight was forced to deal with the threat after she had already been harmed.

Before he could spend too much time considering either of those two options, however, Ruzek found himself once again forced back to the present as Olinsky disconnected the call, and threw the car in drive, the squeal the tires made in protest as he sped out onto the street with lights blaring prompting him to risk a glance at his partner before heaving a breath and deciding to speak, even though better instinct and the expression upon his partner's face all but demanded that he remain silent.

"We got something?"

"What do you think, kid?"

Whether Adam understood the meaning behind the simple retort or not, it did not escape Olinsky's notice that the younger man clearly appeared to know better than to say anything more, his mouth settling into a firm line as they drove off in response to Voight's brief instruction, and hoped beyond hope that they were not going to arrive too late.

…

The house they arrived at was nondescript, at best, its outward appearance leaving little hope for anything better on the interior. In contrast to the other houses and buildings surrounding it, every single one of its windows were dark, the sight causing Erin's spirits to sink with an almost crippling dread, though she did what she could to avoid such a sensation from making itself apparent upon her face. She could feel Jay's eyes on her, even from where he stood behind her, and slightly to the left, though that was not entirely enough to force her to turn and confront him, head-on. And although she knew that ignoring him would only get her so far, she opted for continuing in that vein, her shoulders stiffening as she followed behind Voight and Olinsky as they made their way towards the stairs leading up to the front door of the building they sought.

Voight's three short knocks upon the door received no response, not that Erin had truly expected them to, and she found herself almost looking forward to breaching the door with a grim sort of satisfaction that she was not willing to acknowledge, at least at the present. She would have been lying had she pretended finding any excuse to put a bullet between the eyes of the man who had taken Charlie from them was not at the very top of her list of things she desired, though she remained wise enough to avoid that desire becoming public knowledge.

She knew as soon as it did, Voight would bench her, and she was not about to permit that to happen, when Charlie was still, for all intents and purposes, in the wind.

Determined to avoid that outcome for as long as she possibly could, Erin followed along behind Voight with weapon drawn as he and Olinsky entered the building, and fanned out to clear the rooms in rapid succession, her eyes drawn almost immediately to the stairwell at the back of the room she currently occupied for long enough to note that the spot of color on the pale white railing was not a preexisting blemish that had been present for a while. As she approached, it seemed to glisten just a bit in the beam of her flashlight, the sight causing her stomach to roil as she got close enough to recognize the spot for exactly what it was—blood. And although she did not truly wish to acknowledge it, she would have been blind to pretend that there was not a faint trail of the same substance proceeding ahead of her towards the top of the stairs, her teeth clenching as she adjusted her hold upon the flashlight and the gun in her hands before taking each step one at a time.

While she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, she was vaguely aware of the sound of Voight and the others indicating they had successfully cleared each of the rooms on the main floor, a strange sort of determination steeling over her as she hoped she would find something—anything—that would indicate this had not been a wasted trip. She knew they were running out of time to find leads on Charlie before the man who had her decided to remove her from the equation entirely. And that thought alone fueled her single-minded focus on the task at hand, her grip only tightening on the gun in her hand as she rounded the corner and entered the first room on the landing ready for a fight.

A fight that would not be forthcoming.

Cursing under her breath, Erin followed through as it pertained to clearing the room as procedure would dictate, her shoulders tightening still further as she fought against the devastating idea that she was not about to find her friend here, at all. In truth, she had very nearly left the room, entirely, to move on to the other two on the floor to avoid any hidden assailants gaining an advantage over her, or her fellow detectives one floor below. But that was before a tiny glint of silver reflected against the flashlight's motion as she was swinging it back towards the door, her breath catching in her throat as she stooped towards the ground and plucked it up as gingerly as she could, despite her now trembling hands.

It was Charlie's ring…

"Hank!" She called, heading towards the door with all thought of clearing the other rooms temporarily forgotten, while the sound of thudding footsteps on the stairs headed her way, "I think I've got something."

"Show me," Voight directed, reaching the top of the stairs quicker than Erin would have thought possible, had she not known the stakes that he held in this fight, as well. Holding out her hand, she watched his expression carefully as he took in the small silver band resting upon her palm, the sight of the muscle working at his jawline the only outward sign that he recognized it at all. Almost immediately, one hand had reached out for the tiny ring, his gaze fixated upon the thing as though if he stared long enough, he might will its owner into making an appearance, as well. But before she could say or do anything to assuage the obvious frustration and worry that flickered, just for a moment, in the familiar hazel eyes, she found the gesture rendered inept, the breath she had not even realized she was holding escaping her lungs in a rush as Hank's eyes met hers while he spoke.

"She was here."

…


	10. Chapter 10

Charlie sat in the back of the car, her arms cramping from the awkward angle they made, bent behind her back while her wrists were secured by two zip ties that had nearly cut off the circulation in her hands. She had long since stopped trying to twist them loose, as each movement only seemed to tighten the bonds securing them, rather than loosen them so she might get free. A part of her hated the fact that she had given up the fight so easily, though she knew that if she made her attempts too obvious, she would only draw attention from Mack, and the other man in the passenger seat in front of her. And so, Charlie simply settled for remaining as upright as she could, unbuckled and unable to use her hands to steady her position, a wince passing over her features every now and again as a bump jostled the car in irregular intervals, and forced her to stiffen almost every muscle she possessed to resist gravity's attempts at tugging her down to lay awkwardly upon her shoulder and side, instead.

For their part, the men in the front of the car were silent, the lack of any conversation, no matter what the topic was unnerving to say the least, as it left Charlie with nothing else to do but dread what was to come. She may have put up a strong front, trying to pretend with Mack and the others that she wasn't afraid of anything they could think of to throw at her. But the truth of the matter was, she was absolutely terrified that this could be the end of the line for her, her teeth digging into the flesh of her lower lip so often that she could taste blood, now, every time she repeated the act whether she wanted to, or not.

There was so much she felt she still needed to do—to atone for—and not having the chance to do those things frightened her more than she cared to admit.

Knowing that spending too much time dwelling on her fears would do her little good, however, Charlie did the best she could to force her mind away from such thoughts, a shaky breath leaving her lungs as she shifted a bit in the back seat of the car, and swallowed in spite of the scratchy dryness of her throat. It occurred to her that she had not had a sip of water—anything to eat—in longer than she could remember, a spasm of nerves scissoring their way down her spine as she realized that had likely been the intent all along. Hunger—thirst—both would contribute to disorientation, and the less coherent she was, the easier it would be to dispose of her in any way that Mack saw fit.

In response to the thought, Charlie found that her hands were clenching into fists behind her back, a low hiss escaping as the act caused the zip ties to cut into her wrists once again. Though she never wanted it to, the act seemed to earn her the attention of the two men sitting up front, the sudden pressure of a bruising grip upon her thigh causing her to flinch before a gruff voice reached her ears.

"She's tryin' to get free, boss."

No response came to the words save for the almost immediate squeal of the car's tires, and the sudden jerking of the vehicle towards what Charlie could only surmise was the side of the road, the motion causing her to finally become incapable of holding herself upright such that she was slammed sideways with the majority of her weight landing upon her shoulder and her right cheek. Unbidden, she allowed a groan to escape, the sound muffled by the padding of the seat as she shifted as best she could until she could lift her head up to look at the door after the car had come to a complete stop. In mere seconds, it was opening, the sudden brightness of the light outside causing her to squint before she was being yanked out by a punishing grip on her hair and shoulder. Though she tried to avoid it, Charlie was absolutely incapable of fighting of the startled yelp that escaped in response, her eyes watering as she was forced to her feet, and stumbled a bit as she struggled to catch her footing. Forcing her eyes open, she silently cursed the tears that were already streaming down her face while her scalp stung beneath the grip of a hand that she now realized belonged to none other than Mack, himself. And before she could come up with anything to say to him, whether that was to taunt him, or plead for her life, she found the gesture rendered moot, another tug to the roots of her hair causing her to cry out as Mack pulled her close enough so that when he spoke, she could feel his breath, hot against the skin of her face.

"I thought you were smart enough to know when to keep quiet."

"I wasn't—Mack, I wasn't doing anything!" Charlie exclaimed, hating how her tone had turned pleading, in spite of her initial desire to remain indifferent to anything Mack decided to throw her way, "Look, I don't know what your friend saw, but—"

"Don't even try it, Charlie. You wanted out of the car? I got you out of the car."

"What're you gonna do, boss?" The other man inquired, moving to stand at Mack's side, and glancing between him and Charlie as though waiting for either one of them to do something rash, "We got cars all around us, here. Someone's bound to see something."

"You think I give a damn about that?"

"You should. Witness statements count for a lot in a court of law."

"I don't recall asking you," Mack spat, turning his attention back to Charlie as soon as she had spoken, and using the hold he still had upon her hair to yank her head back until she was looking him straight in the eye, "Shut. Up."

"Or what?"

"Or I give you two in the back of the head right now, and you're done."

Clamping her mouth shut in response to the threat, Charlie did her best to remain absolutely still, the pain at the back of her skull forcing her to bite down on a scream while one hand reached up to latch upon Mack's arm in a bid to ease his grip. She could feel her fingernails digging into the leather of his jacket, though that act seemed to have little outward impact on his demeanor, itself. And although she could hear the distant sound of cars passing them by—although she prayed with all she had that someone would notice her predicament and attempt to help, Charlie found that no help appeared to be forthcoming, the sudden force with which Mack shoved her away from him causing her to stumble in the grass at the side of the road, a low huff escaping as she finally found her footing in time to realize he had yanked the gun concealed in the waistband of his pants out, and pointed it directly at her chest.

"Walk."

"Mack—come on, baby, we can—we can talk about this—"

"Walk," He persisted, inclining his head in a direction that led away from the road, and leveling the gun with absolutely no emotion showing in his eyes whatsoever. Gone was the man that had once looked at her with something that, if not love, at least bore some resemblance to affection…

That man, it seemed, had been replaced by someone that Charlie hardly even recognized.

Aware that following his instructions appeared to be the wisest course of action, Charlie turned and began to walk in the direction Mack had indicated, her hands still flexing behind her back on occasion in spite of the fact that she knew the act to be futile. Every instinct she possessed told her that this was it. That Mack was likely getting them to a place far enough off the road that they could take care of business, such as it was, without being seen. And although she knew very well that it was likely wise of her to be feeling a healthy level of fear at the prospect, she could not entirely stop her mind from scrabbling about for something—anything—that she could use to get out of this, her teeth once again taking up the act of digging into her lower lip as she simultaneously felt the barrel of Mack's gun pressing against her spine.

"Keep it moving, bitch."

Stumbling forward, and glancing around at the ground near her feet as though some means of escape would become forthcoming, Charlie bit back a sigh as her eyes took in nothing but grass and the occasional piece of litter, instead. Almost immediately, panic clawed its way through her chest and up her throat, somehow seeming to strangle the very breath from her lungs in spite of the fact that she knew such a distraction would only do more harm than good. And before she could fully stop herself, Charlie found her mind straying towards thoughts of her family, the burn of tears once again pricking at her eyes as she continued to walk at a fast enough pace to keep her back away from the feel of Mack's gun…

…

"Sarge—found some coffee on the dining room table. Still warm. Whoever was here, they must have just left," Halstead informed, approaching Voight and Lindsay where they stood at the top of the stairs, and glancing down at the small object his superior held in his hands as it glinted in the light above the stairwell, "What's that?"

"Charlie's ring."

"What?"

"Camille gave it to her. Before she—before she died," Erin replied, aware of the sudden understanding that took over Jay's features, before she was redirecting her attention to Voight, just in time to see him stow the ring inside his jacket pocket, "What do you want to do, Hank?"

"The car we tracked here—"

"Gone," Jay filled in, risking a glance at Erin, and noticing that she had averted her eyes, while simultaneously lifting one hand to drag through already slightly tousled hair, "Seems likely that whoever has Charlie took it when they moved her."

"Means they're either stupid, or cocky. Either way, we need Jin to run another trace on that car."

"Already put in the call. He said he'd call your phone directly when he had something to go on."

"Smart move," Voight acknowledged, moving past Halstead and Lindsay to head down the stairs, and remaining oblivious to the shared glance between them over his sudden departure, "Olinsky!"

"Yeah—"

"Take Ruzek, Antonio, and Halstead back to the precinct."

"What?"

"You heard me, Alvin."

"No, I know I heard you. I just don't believe what you're saying," Olinsky began, ignoring the hard look Voight gave him, and moving to step in front of him to halt his progress before going on, "We don't even know where this guy took her."

"Let me worry about that. I need you back at the precinct if we catch another case."

"Voight, come on, you can't be serious—"

"The less interference we have on this thing, the better," Voight cut in, taking note of the restraining hand Erin had placed upon Halstead's arm to prevent him from adding his protest to Olinsky's, and gesturing for her to stand at his side in the same motion, "Lindsay will come with me. That's it."

"And if these guys have other friends hiding in the woodwork? What then?" Alvin pressed, already anticipating the sort of blow-back he was about to receive from Ruzek when he found out what the new plan would be, and finding himself more than a little reluctant to face such a thing with a likely disgruntled Halstead in tow, as well, "You and Lindsay just take them out on your own?"

"We do what needs to be done, Alvin. You know that."

Aware that Voight was not likely to be swayed from his current path, and yet still more than a little concerned about the outcome if he were allowed to have his way, Olinsky opted for remaining silent for the moment, stepping to the side so that Voight could pass him by, and head for the front door unimpeded. Having known the man as long as he had, Alvin was no stranger to the fact that it was better to simply let Voight have his way when he was in a mood like this. But even that knowledge was not quite enough to make him at ease with the man's apparent decision to pursue whatever lead they might obtain on Charlie on his own…

He knew exactly what Voight was capable of even when the victim in question was not his family, and he would have been a liar to pretend that he was not very much aware of what stood to happen to whoever had taken Charlie, whether he wanted to look the reality in the eye, or not.

"You sure we should be letting him go off on his own like this?" Halstead asked then, startling Olinsky out of his own thoughts, and causing him to glance at the younger man for just enough time to see the very real concern etched upon his features, "He can't—we can't have him going off the reservation, here. Not when—"

"Not when Charlie needs him."

"Yeah."

"If we don't, we just make this worse, kid. We can't make it worse," Olinsky cautioned, clapping a hand on Halstead's shoulder, and keeping him in place while Erin sidled around him to follow after Voight, "Go find Ruzek and Dawson. We need to get back to the precinct."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, Halstead. Seriously. Unless you want to be the one to tell Voight why you didn't follow orders."

"Not really."

"Then go," Alvin repeated, removing his hand from Jay's shoulder, and watching as the younger man moved off towards the direction in which they had last seen Ruzek and Dawson, despite the obvious reluctance he felt about being sent off to do such a thing in the first place. Passing a hand over his face in hopes that it would relieve some of the tension that seemed to have taken root in his entire body, Alvin emitted a soft groan, the idea that he would have liked a shot at the perp they were chasing himself startling him, in spite of his determination to remain level-headed. He could only imagine what he would be going through if this was Lexi being held by someone that was willing to do anything they needed to save his own skin. And perhaps that was the precise reason that he was struggling with the prospect of being left behind.

He knew what it would do to Hank Voight if he lost his daughter, no matter what the relationship was like between them, because he knew exactly what he would be going through if the same thing were happening to him.

…

Adam Ruzek had been cooling his heels back at the precinct for what felt like forever, his inability to sit still apparently proving unnerving for both Olinsky and Antonio, despite the fact that he knew they were every bit as irritated at the prospect of being sent back to headquarters as he was. Truthfully, he was more than a little surprised that Halstead had accepted their supposed fate as quietly as he had, the glance he cast towards Jay's desk showing him nothing save for a man that was seemingly already occupied with scanning through something on his computer screen. But perhaps what surprised him more was the fact that Voight had only wanted Lindsay at his side, when Adam knew that he was the reason this entire charade had transpired in the first place.

"Voight said he'd call, right? If they had anything—"

"And he hasn't, yet. Which means they don't have anything," Antonio cut in, watching as Ruzek once again took up the act of pacing the floor in front of his desk, while one hand made an almost continuous path through his already tousled hair, "You need to get your mind off of this, Ruzek."

"Kind of hard to do that when it's my fault."

"It's not your fault, kid—"

"Except that it is," Adam insisted, turning to look directly at Olinsky, and deflating a bit as soon as he realized he was not about to get any camaraderie there, when the older man appeared to be bound and determined to avoid acknowledging the way he felt about the situation at all, "It is my fault. I turn my back for one second, and she's gone."

"And it could have happened to any one of us," Antonio supplied, aware of the scoff that Adam gave in response, and yet choosing to press on regardless, "It could have been any one of us in that house with Charlie, when she gave us the slip, man. This isn't on you."

"Tell me you wouldn't be blaming yourself if it had been you in there, Dawson. Tell me that, and maybe I'll believe you."

"I can't do that."

"Exactly. So why don't we all shut up about it, and let me just think what I'm gonna think, alright?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Adam regretted them, though he was not about to admit to that fact out loud, his fingers tearing through his hair again as he moved to slump in the chair behind his desk with another groan. No matter what he did, the guilt that he felt over letting Hank Voight's daughter slip right through his fingers—the very real concern he felt for what Charlie might be fighting to survive, even now was near to overwhelming. And nothing that any of his coworkers had to say about it was going to convince him that he was not at fault when he knew for a fact that he was.

With that thought at the forefront of his mind, Adam forced himself out of his chair almost as soon as he had sat down, the sudden scrape of the legs against the flooring provoking glances from his companions that ranged from simple curiosity, to outright frustration. Ignoring that, however, he reached for his jacket where he had left it hanging over the back of his chair, and used its bulk to conceal the fact that he had reached for his gun and badge, as well…

He was going to fix this. He had to fix this. But to do that, Adam also knew that Halstead, Alvin and Antonio couldn't have any idea of what, exactly, it was that he was leaving for.

"I'm gonna go get some air," He began, aware of every single pairs of eyes coming to rest on him, and forcing all of the evenness he could muster into his expression as he looked each of them in the eye, and prayed that none of them would make a point of questioning his intentions before he could depart, "I'll be right back."

"Want me to come with?"

"No. No, Jay, I—I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Like I said, I'm just going to get some air."

Before Jay, or anyone else could make any further attempts at stalling him, Adam headed towards the stairs, and took them as quickly as he could, while simultaneously shrugging into his jacket, and slipping his gun into the holster at his side. He knew he only had minutes to get to his car, and drive away before any one of his coworkers upstairs realized he was not coming back, and sent someone out after him.

He just had to hope that Jin would be cooperative when he called him for Voight's location, and that he wouldn't spill the beans to anyone else when they started to wonder why a simple trip outside had suddenly turned into an hour or more of being missing in action…

…

Charlie had been walking for what felt like ages, now, her hands having gone numb some time ago in response to the sudden chill in the air, as the sun sank below the horizon and there was nothing left to see but darkness. She hardly knew why she was being forced so far off the beaten path, the lingering logical side of her mind pondering over exactly how they intended to get back to their car after they disposed of her. Some small part of her figured they would simply leave her body wherever they ended things, because the idea of carting dead weight all the way back to the car just didn't make sense. But then she was brought to the realization that if they did leave her, she would be left as a meal for some wayward coyote, or a vulture, or any other number of wild creatures, the laugh that erupted from her throat more than a little hysterical despite the fact that all she really wanted to do was cry.

Foolish pride seemed all but determined to refuse to allow her even that small mercy, however, her eyes remaining fixed on some invisible point straight ahead, such that every so often she would stumble as her feet caught on a lump of grass, or an uneven bit of ground. Every so often, she could feel the barrel of Mack's gun nudging against her back to keep her moving, the sharp breaths coming from behind her indicating that both he, and his companion were following her every bit as closely as they had been, before. She wanted to scream. To do something—anything reckless enough that it would prompt them to just end it, already. Waiting for the inevitable—waiting for death—was almost worse than the consideration of the reality of it, itself. But it seemed she was too cowardly, even for that, her steps continuing to carry her forward until she heard the surprising sound of water lapping at a nearby shore.

That would explain what they were going to do with her body, then…

As though sensing the particular line of her thoughts, Charlie found herself flinching as Mack suddenly latched onto her arm where it remained tethered behind her back, the roughness of his grip provoking a whimper before she could even begin to make the attempt to stop it. The gesture brought her steps to a complete stop, her breath catching in her lungs as she felt the sudden proximity of his face near her own. And although she knew it was ridiculous to be saying such a thing, given her circumstances, Charlie could not help but give in to the urge, regardless, her words only wavering slightly as she forced herself to glance at Mack out of the corner of her eye.

"I really did love you, you know."

"I know," Mack replied, his fingers digging into her skin so tightly that Charlie was all but certain there would be a bruise encircling her arm in mere seconds, flat, "It just wasn't enough."

Before she could think of any form of a reply, Charlie found herself being shoved to rest on her knees, a gasp escaping as she realized that in her attempts at keeping herself focused on the present, she had somehow missed the fact that she was now on gravel, and not grass at all. The pebbles were digging into her skin, even through the barrier presented by her jeans. And although she could hear the sound of Mack's harsh breathing coming from somewhere behind her, now—although she could sense the presence of the other man nearby as well, watching as though this were something entertaining one would find on the television, and not a real, live murder about to take place right before his very eyes, Charlie found herself suddenly focusing on the water that she could now see before her, the light of the moon reflecting off of the waves giving her an eerie sort of calm, while the sound of a gun being cocked simultaneously reached her ears.

It was beautiful.

Closing her eyes, and exhaling slowly through her nose, Charlie did what she could to simply absorb herself in the feel of the gentle, albeit chilly breeze against the skin of her cheeks, her mind clinging to the idea of the afterlife her mother had always told her about when she was a little girl. She hoped she would see her again. She needed to believe that she would be able to see her mother again, after missing her for so long that it was like a physical pain that would not go away. But perhaps what she wanted even more than the possibility of seeing her mother again was the ability to make amends with her father—a possibility that had now all but slipped away as she felt the cold reality of the barrel of Mack's gun pressing against the back of her skull.

"Daddy—I'm so, so sorry—"

With her teeth digging into her lower lip, Charlie forced herself to take one last, deep breath, her heart starting to hammer against her ribcage as survival instinct tried to break through her previously distracted calm. It took everything she had to continue to remain still, when every muscle and nerve-ending she possessed wanted to flee. But somehow, she remained as immovable as possible, despite the shivering that had taken over in response to the cold. And then it happened.

The sound of a gunshot echoed in the otherwise still quiet of the night, and Charlie's mouth opened in a silent scream as everything went black, and she knew no more…

…


	11. Chapter 11

An eight-year-old Charlie bounded through the thick grass, giggles erupting from her lips as she chased after her older brother, with arms outstretched as though if she made it just a few more steps, she could catch him and never let him go. They had been ambling around outside for what felt like hours, the fresh air of one of the first genuinely warm days after a brutal Chicago winter doing more for their state of mind than anything else ever could. And although the little girl could feel the tips of her fingers starting to go numb as the sun continued to sink beneath the tree line up ahead, she was not about to give up, and venture back inside until a clear victor had been chosen in their impromptu game of tag, her voice scratchy around the ragged breaths she drew while her feet pounded against the ground and jarred every bone in her body as a result.

"Justin—wait up!"

"Not gonna happen," Her older brother retorted, somehow managing to put on another burst of speed as he headed towards the edge of the forest bordering the back of their family home, and risked a glance over his shoulder to discern exactly where his little sister was, behind him, "You gotta be faster, Char."

"I'm trying my best," Charlie huffed, her arms pumping as she followed in Justin's wake, while her muscles burned as a result of her efforts, "Your legs are so much longer than mine!"

"Yeah, because I'm older!"

"Well, it's not fair."

"Since when is life ever fair?"

Emitting a frustrated groan in response to the honestly predictable reply her brother had given her, Charlie did as best she could to hurry after him, or at least, she did until a misplaced step caused her ankle to twist in an unseen rut in the ground, and she went down on the ground with a thud and a shrill scream of surprise. With a groan, she struggled to catch her breath after it had been knocked from her lungs, her palms pushing against the dirt and grass beneath them as she struggled to stand once again. Of course, such an act was impossible, as even the slightest pressure on the foot in question caused spasms of pain to rack their way up her leg, until she crumpled in a heap once more. And so, she did the only thing she could do, after a glance towards the tree line told her Justin had already disappeared into the forest, a low whimper escaping as she forced herself up onto her hands and knees, to begin a slow trek back towards the house.

It was agony, of course, moving along at a crawl, with each slight jolt of her body causing her ankle to throb as though someone were mashing away at it with an invisible hammer. She didn't know enough to be able to tell if it was broken, or merely sprained, though in the wake of the pain she was feeling, such distinctions really didn't seem to matter too much. And although it truly was not that great of a distance from the tree line to the back door of their home, Charlie now found that it seemed to take an age to simply drag herself even half that distance, hot tears suddenly starting to run down her cheeks as she came to a stop, and struggled to catch her breath so that she could attempt to force those tears away.

Pain or not, she hated the fact that she was so visibly shaken, given who she came from, and as her hands came up to dash at the moisture on her cheeks, she bit down on the skin of her lower lip in hopes that the new source of slight discomfort would distract her from the relentless throbbing of her ankle.

It did not.

With a discouraged groan as the only outward sign of her frustration with herself, however, Charlie forced herself to keep moving forward, her eyes remaining glued upon the back of her home as a source of motivation when all she really wanted to do was lie flat on her back until someone came to find her. She knew, truthfully, that all she really had to do was call out, and one or both of her parents would likely hear her through the open back window of the kitchen. But some sort of childish pride and a refusal to allow her father to see her as weak prevented her from doing exactly that, her teeth grinding together in an effort to avoid crying out as she continued to haul herself towards the back door.

By some miracle, she actually made it to her destination, though it did seem to take an eternity to do so, her hands and arms now trembling as she pushed herself up and attempted to stand once again. The effort caused a small yelp to wring from her lips, but she did manage to navigate her position against the door frame so that she could twist the knob, and open it, regardless. And that was apparently the last straw for her already fractured composure, the first step she attempted to take into the utility room causing her leg to tremble until it could bear her weight no longer, and she tumbled to the floor with a crash, and narrowly avoided smacking her forehead on the washing machine in the process.

"Justin? Is that you?"

"It's—it's me, Mom," Charlie ground out, hating how the pain had turned her words into a whine, though she somehow managed to lift a hand to wipe away the returning tears before her mother rounded the corner and entered the room with a worried frown and a startled exclamation at the precise same moment.

"Charlie? My God, sweetheart, what—what happened?"

"I was chasing after Justin, and I—I fell."

"Oh, sweetie," Camille hummed, moving forward to crouch down at her daughter's side, and reaching forward to brush a strand of brown hair away from her blue eyes, before redirecting her attention to Charlie's ankle, and noting that the slightest touch of her fingertips caused her daughter to flinch away in response, "Do you think you can let me take a look?"

"I—I think so."

"Okay then. I promise, this will only take a second."

Gritting her teeth as she watched her mother reach down to gently shift the hem of her jeans so that she could see the joint in question, Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and fought against the noise that had snaked its way up her throat in response to her mothers gently probing fingers, her fingernails digging into the tiling of the floor beneath her as she did her best to remain still. Just as her mother had promised, it did not take too long at all, though Charlie was hardly reassured when she cracked her eyes open once more, and registered the look of apparent concern upon her mother's face. But before she could manage to make any sort of inquiry of her own as to what had really happened when she fell, Charlie found herself silenced, her mother's hand coming to rest over her own as she turned her head over her shoulder and called out for her father, instead.

"Hank—get the car ready. Charlie needs to go to the hospital."

Before she could even blink, it seemed, Charlie had been loaded into the car with her father's help, her mother remaining close by her side while he went off in search of Justin not long thereafter. And although going to the hospital had been about the farthest thing from her mind, no matter what the true status of her ankle might be, she was at least grateful for the steady presence of her mother's hand in her own, the warmth of her brother's gangly frame on her opposite side grounding her when she thought that nothing else could.

Sandwiched between her mother and her brother, and with her father in the front seat, Charlie would have been a fool to pretend that she had not at least started to believe that everything just might be alright, after all.

…..

"Hey—hey, Charlie, come on, sweetheart, wake up," Adam pleaded, hardly aware of the pebbles digging into his shins as he crouched beside his sergeant's unconscious daughter, and tried to gently shake her awake. She had a pulse, thank God, and had not been hit by the shot he had used to disarm her would-be murderer for long enough to get him down on the ground and in cuffs. And although he kept darting backward glances at the man in question, in order to make sure that he did not make yet another error in judgment that ended with them both getting killed, the majority of Adam's attention was absolutely riveted upon the woman lying limp in his arms, one of his hands cradling her head while the other slapped gently at her cheek.

"Charlie—come on, you can do this. Wake up."

"M—Mom?"

"Oh, thank God—"

"Mom?" Charlie repeated, her brow furrowing as she inhaled a shaky breath, and forced her eyes open, only to recoil as she momentarily failed to recognize who was holding her in their arms, "Who—get away from me!"

"Hey, hey, easy, it's me. It's Adam!"

"I—what?"

"It's Adam. Ruzek. I—I stayed with you for a bit, at your dad's house?" Adam informed, holding both hands up in hopes that it would persuade the still frantic young woman before him that he was there as a friend, not a threat, "Or at least, I did 'til you ran out on me—"

"Right. I—sorry."

"No. No. Don't say you're sorry. I should have—I should have kept a closer eye on you."

"You mean you should have been a better babysitter?" Charlie clarified, wincing as the act of attempting to sit upright caused her head to pound, and lifting a hand to the slight abrasion on her temple where a piece of gravel had broken the skin, "Ouch."

"Okay—maybe don't do that," Adam replied, placing a hand upon Charlie's shoulder so that he could stand a chance at keeping her supine, "We need to get you checked out."

"No, I—I don't need a hospital."

"Actually, I think you do, if for no other reason than to make sure you didn't take too hard of a hit to your head."

"I didn't—I'm fine," Charlie pressed, once again trying to sit up, only to find that Adam was once again pressing gently at her shoulder to prevent her from doing exactly that, "Please, just—just let me go."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because I, for one, am not about to tell your dad that I let you go again, when I wasn't even supposed to be out here to begin with."

"You—what are you talking about?"

"Your dad sent me back to HQ so that he could find you himself," Adam explained, risking yet another glance towards where the unconscious Mack was lying on his side, a bruise darkening the skin near his temple where the butt of a gun had collided with bone, "Seems to me I'm already in enough hot water as it is."

Stunned into silence at the confession, Charlie could do nothing save for avert her gaze as she struggled to comprehend the exact implication behind what Adam had just told her, her cheeks warming just a bit as she struggled to discern exactly what that might mean. She had not wanted anything like this to happen, of course, having never once expected that a complete stranger would have any reason at all to take the task of finding her so personally. But apparently, Adam had, whether because he felt some sense of responsibility for her disappearance in the first place, or some other reason entirely, she did not fully know. And although Charlie knew she should have been abundantly grateful that Adam had arrived when he had, she could not find it within herself to completely dismiss the unwavering sense of guilt over the risks he had taken to do so.

It was bad enough her father had rooked him into watching over her in the first place, and the idea of his apparent desire to continue seeing to her welfare when all that she wanted to do was slip quietly into the shadows was more stifling than Charlie believed she could take.

"Isn't that more—more of a reason to just let me go?" She inquired, forcing her eyes to meet Adam's once again, and using the suddenly perplexed expression that stole over his features as leave to sit as quickly as she could, and slide a few inches away before he could do a thing to stop it. She would have been blind not to see the disgruntled expression that Adam wore in response, though even that realization was not enough to truly persuade her to care. But even though she had honestly expected him to chastise her for the act, Charlie found that Adam appeared to be opting for a different tactic entirely, his brow furrowing for just a moment before he spoke.

"You can throw whatever you want at me, Charlie. I'm not letting you go."

Before she could say or do anything to contradict the obvious certainty inherent in Adam's tone, Charlie found herself distracted by the sound of the wail of a siren and tires crunching on gravel, her gaze snapping towards the source as a pit of dread cemented itself in her stomach. While a part of her—the childish part, admittedly—had craved her father's presence, when she faced death at the end of Mack's gun, a still greater part of her was honestly reluctant to see him now, when death was no longer in the cards.

But of course, when she wanted it the most, the choice of running away was apparently not an option.

Chewing at the inside of her cheek as the car rolled to a stop, and the sound of two slamming doors indicated her father's approach, and from the style of boots she could see as she kept her gaze rooted firmly to the ground, Erin's as well, Charlie shrank in on herself, as though every instinct she possessed was trying to prepare her for the worst…

"Care to tell me what the hell you're doing out here when I specifically remember sending you back to HQ?"

So, Adam was right…he really was in hot water, after all.

…

Against her better judgment, Charlie made the majority of the ambulance ride to Gaffney's in a stubborn silence, every fiber of her being poignantly aware of her father's presence beside her, whether she wanted him there or not. In spite of her fervent protests when it had just been her and dam, the young woman found that, as soon as her father had arrived, she was suddenly incapable of saying a word. And so, she had suddenly found herself being guided to the stretcher brought out by the two paramedics that had arrived on the scene, and subsequently loaded into the ambulance with her father following not long after, her gaze remaining riveted upon her hands where they rested in her lap since the doors had shut behind her, and they had started off towards the hospital not long thereafter.

To say anything other than that she was at a loss for how to even begin speaking to a man she had not felt any common ground with in years would have been the understatement of the century.

Still, Charlie could feel the tension in her body only growing as she remained aware of her father's gaze upon her, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the fabric of her jeans as she tried, multiple times, to simply force herself to speak. She wanted to thank him. To tell him she didn't need to go to the hospital at all. To plead with him to simply let her leave, again, before either one of them could say or do something they both knew they would regret. But the more time she spent sitting there, speechless, the more difficult it became to even know where to begin when it came to an attempt at conversation, a faint huff escaping before Charlie could fully stop it as she wet her lips with her tongue, and tilted her head to the side to crack her neck, only to find a wince brought about as a result when the act renewed the throbbing of her head that she had thought had gone away.

"You okay?"

"Just peachy. How about you?"

"I'm being serious, Charlie," Voight pressed, his expression curiously neutral, despite the obvious frustration that made its way into his words whether he wanted it to or not, "Are you okay?"

"What is it that you really expect to hear, Dad? I'm not—I can't even begin to figure out how I feel, right now."

"Then just say that."

"Does that mean you'll actually accept it as an answer?" Charlie quipped, forcing herself to look her father in the eye, and somehow summoning the wherewithal to avoid allowing a flinch to break free upon realizing the unbreakable determination that was so inherent in his familiar brown eyes. She knew, of course, that taunting him after everything that had just transpired was perhaps the farthest thing from wise, given that the majority of the tension that existed between them was precisely on account of their matching reluctance to showcase any sort of emotion beyond ire on the surface of any interaction they took part in. But of course that knowledge was not entirely enough to sway her from her apparent preference for hostility, her blue eyes narrowing as she regarded her father for one final beat of silence, before deciding to speak once again.

"I suppose I can take your silence as a no."

"Then you would be wrong."

"There's a surprise."

"When does this end, for us, Charlie?" Voight cut in, aware of how his daughter had once again decided to look away from his attentive gaze, and yet not allowing that fact to deter him in the slightest as he pressed on, "When do we stop all this dancing around and figure out how to move forward?"

"And here I thought we were having so much fun."

"Charlie—"

"What, Dad? What do you want me to say, here? What would make you feel better?"

"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?" Charlie demanded, hating the way her voice cracked around the words, though for her father's part, he seemed inclined not to notice, "Because I'm honestly at a loss for figuring it out, myself."

"Maybe we can help each other out with that."

"Really."

"Yeah. Really," Voight confirmed, leaning forward to place both elbows upon his knees, and threading his fingers together tightly before going on, "I'm not letting you go again, Charlie."

"Seems like maybe that's not really your call."

"I think it is. You're coming home with me tonight, kid. Whether you like it or not."

"Am I going there in cuffs?" Charlie questioned, one brow cocked in obvious skepticism over her father's intentions, even though she knew just from the look on his face that the inquiry was hardly appreciated, "Because if I am, I'm not sure I'm down for that."

"You're coming of your own free will. But you are coming home. End of story."

"Right. Well, if you say so—"

"I do say so," Voight declared, his expression obviously daring Charlie to make any attempt at talking her way out of things, though surprisingly enough, he found she remained silent, even in spite of the tense set of her jaw, "You need your family, Charlie."

"And you're gonna give me that? Family?"

"I'm sure as hell gonna try."

Emitting a huff as she realized she was not likely to get anywhere with her father at the moment, and that she was not exactly in a position to get away from him at the moment, Charlie leaned back against the stretcher, and stared at the ceiling of the ambulance as they slowed to a stop, and she felt the distinctive shudder of the vehicle being thrown in park, signifying they had arrived at the hospital at last. A brief glance towards her father showed her that he had likely come to the same conclusion, his posture shifting to indicate that he was prepared to hop out of the doors as soon as they had opened. And although Charlie would have been a fool to pretend she was looking forward to the journey into the hospital, and the prospect of being under the scrutiny of who knew how many medical professionals until they realized what she already knew—that she was fine—the young woman braced herself for the encounter anyway, her jaw locking together as the blonde woman who had been driving the ambulance opened the doors, and stepped inside to assist her partner in getting theit patient out…

Her father may try to stop her, but Charlie was all but determined to ensure the first chance she had, she would be gone for good.

…


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie had been crawling out of her skin after the transition from the ambulance to one of the treatment bays in the busy emergency room at Gaffney's, the fingers of her free hand that was not hooked up to the IV drumming a frantic pattern on the fabric of her jeans, while her other hand lifted in odd intervals to shove wayward strands of her hair behind an ear. Her father had stepped out to speak to another one of his detectives that she did not recognize, his eyes darting back towards her where she rested behind the partially closed sliding door on occasion as though he was determined that if he looked away for too long, she might disappear. In truth, she was itching to do exactly that, though she knew she would not stand a chance with him standing guard without giving any sign of stepping any farther from her than he already had.

She would have to wait, it seemed, until he either tired of waiting around the hospital for the doctor to clear her and confirm that there was no risk for concussion, or do something to get herself away as soon as they made it back to his home.

She would not call it her home. She couldn't.

That house hadn't been home since the day her mom died.

Gritting her teeth as the mere thought of her mother brought an almost immediate stinging sensation to the backs of her eyes, Charlie shifted minutely on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, a wince passing over her features as the movement tugged at the IV line, and caused it to pull against her skin. Truthfully, she highly doubted she needed fluids, as all the bag running into her vein seemed to have done was render her stuck with an almost uncomfortably full bladder. But given the stern, yet not unkind insistence of the nurse who had set her up with the line to begin with, Charlie had felt it better not to protest, opting instead for simply chewing at the inside of her cheek until the woman had left, and she had been alone in the room with her father once again.

Not long after that, the detective he was chatting with now had appeared, knocking on the door and gesturing with his head towards the hallway just outside of her room, and in spite of the fact that Charlie felt more than a little aggravated at how even the newcomer seemed to regard her with a wary sort of interest, she found she could ignore him just as easily as she had ignored her father, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she leaned back against the pillow situated behind her, and stared up at the ceiling, instead.

In the back of her mind, thoughts of exactly what was going to happen to her now began to take hold, creeping forward and overwhelming all other thoughts as though they were a noxious weed consuming a garden left untended. Regardless of how much she may have wanted to believe she could return home with her father, and pick up the pieces of her life as though nothing had ever happened, Charlie knew very well that the tenuous truce that seemed to exist between them now was not going to last for very long. And it was that thought alone that had her all but determined to get out while she still could, no matter how it terrified her that she had not a clue where she would go, or what she would do to make ends meet, next.

She had not gone to college, having decided to postpone her studies to help take care of her mom, instead, during her chemotherapy treatments, and in the aftermath as the medications that eventually killed her took their toll. And since most employers that would hire someone with her limited educational background did not pay enough to completely cover the bills she might incur, and wouldn't be too likely to appreciate the job description regarding what she did for Mack, that left her with very little to turn to on the legal side of things to make a living for herself if she did, in fact, succeed in getting away from a place that seemed determined to bring her more pain than anything else.

"Why did you have to leave us, Mom?"

"I'm sorry—what was that?"

"Oh. Ah—nothing," Charlie stammered, her cheeks heating almost instantaneously in response to the unexpected voice that broke into her thoughts, blue eyes snapping towards the partially opened door of her room, and lighting upon a dark-haired woman wearing a white coat, and magenta-colored scrubs, "Sorry, I was just—I was just talking to myself."

"I understand. Sometimes you need expert advice."

"Yeah, something—something like that."

"How are you feeling?" The woman inquired, glancing down at the tablet she held in her hand for only a moment, before her gaze was riveted to Charlie's frame once again, "Charlotte, right?"

"Charlie."

"Charlie. Any lingering pain? Headache, or blurred vision?"

"No. No, I'm all good," Charlie replied, allowing the woman to step close enough to get a better look, and doing her best to force her muscles to remain relaxed in spite of the apprehension she felt over a stranger invading her personal space, "Other than whatever fluids you're giving me killing my bladder."

"Sorry about that. If you want, as soon as I'm done, we'll see what we can do about getting you up and into the bathroom."

"Yeah, that—that would be great."

"Then we have a deal," The woman grinned, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a pen light to extend towards Charlie's eyes, "Do me a favor, and follow the light with your eyes, Charlie."

Managing a nod before she did as she had been told, Charlie tracked the little light with her eyes, all the while hoping beyond hope that nothing would be amiss, and she would not be forced to stay. Hospitals had never been her favorite—not even before her mother had passed. But now, with just her father standing guard at her doorway, watching the entire interaction between herself, and the doctor with his hands jammed inside his jeans' pockets, Charlie felt that if she stayed in the emergency department for much longer, she would descend into full-blown panic—

And that was yet another thing about her that made her weak.

Voights were not weak.

"Looks good," The doctor informed, her words once again diverting Charlie from her internal musings, and giving her reason to meet her gaze, head-on, as she stowed the pen light back inside her pocket, and glanced towards the monitor beside the bed to check Charlie's vitals, as well, "BP is great, as well. I am a little worried about that pulse. One twenty is a bit too high for a resting heartrate. Are you in any pain?"

"Only a little," Charlie admitted, glancing down at her hands where they rested in her lap, and frowning a bit before going on, "And then there's the whole hospital thing."

"Hospital thing?"

"They make her nervous," Voight spoke up, stepping just a bit further into the room, and regarding his daughter with an unreadable expression that caused Charlie's brow to furrow while he chose to elaborate further, "Always have."

"Makes sense. Most people don't like them," The doctor acknowledged, offering a smile for Voight's benefit, before returning her attention to her patient, once again, "Any tightness in your chest? Shortness of breath?"

"No."

"You're sure? Because I have a pretty good instinct hanging around that tells me when patients aren't telling me the whole story."

"I'm positive," Charlie assured, forcing herself to ignore her father's presence entirely, in favor of glancing down at the name embroidered on the pristine white fabric of the woman's jacket, "I'm fine, Doctor Manning. Just a little on edge."

"Okay. I can accept that for now, as long as you promise me you'll tell me if something changes."

"I'm not—I can't go home now?"

"Not yet. We need to run a few more tests, first. Just to make sure when you fell, you didn't do any unseen damage," Doctor Manning said, aware of the obvious frown that took over her patient's features, and doing her best to keep her tone light and reassuring, even in spite of it, "I promise, we'll get you out of here as soon as we can."

"That sounds—fair," Charlie conceded, leaning back against the pillows once again as Doctor Manning glanced towards her father, her hands slipping inside of her pockets as she used the same reassuring tone she had used on his daughter, on him as well.

"I have every reason to believe she's going to be fine, Hank. We're just covering all our bases."

"Fine by me."

"I'll send someone in to see about getting you to the bathroom, then," Doctor Manning went on, offering Charlie one final smile, and lingering in the doorway with one hand upon the glass for just long enough to finish speaking, "And as soon as I'm done discharging my other patient, I'll be back to run those tests."

"Okay. Thanks, Doc," Voight began, nodding toward the brunette's retreating frame, and then turning back towards Charlie to take a seat upon the plastic chair near the bed, "You need to tell her the truth, Charlie."

"I did."

"Only about what you wanted her to know."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know exactly what it means."

"Well, that's news to me," Charlie scoffed, once again falling to the task of picking at the blanket that covered her legs, and emitting a sigh that was far louder than she had truly wished it to be before going on, "You're getting pretty good if you know how I'm feeling better than I do."

"I'm talking about what the hell that asshole did to you while you were with him," Voight clarified, aware of the way his daughter almost automatically seemed to flinch, though she did her best to rectify that act as best she could by resettling her features into a mask of neutral indifference, instead, "My money is on him putting you through hell long before we caught up to him."

"Then you're going to be losing your money."

"I'm not so sure that I will. You need to talk to someone, Charlie."

"What, like a shrink?"

"Someone who can help you. I think we both know that's not me, right now."

"Then why are you insisting on taking me home?" Charlie demanded, forcing herself to look her father in the eye, despite the uncertainty and guilt that twisted in her stomach in response, "Why not just let me get out of your hair and be done with it?"

"Because we're family. That's not what we do. Especially when one of us is in trouble."

"What about Justin, Dad? He was in trouble, and now he's in jail."

"That's different," Voight countered, noting the obvious roll of the eyes Charlie gave in response to his assertion, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of going on, "I did what I could to help Justin, but I couldn't make it all go away."

"And you think you can, with this?"

"I'm sure as hell gonna try."

Clamping her mouth shut in hopes that it would help her to avoid giving in to the lingering bitterness inherent in her feelings towards what had happened to her older brother, Charlie shifted her gaze to look at the railing of her bed as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Once again, she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she attempted to keep them at bay as long as she could. She could not cry in front of her father. She would not. Not when it would give him every reason to believe that she was still the same helpless little girl that she had always been. He had never criticized her outright for wearing her emotions on her sleeve, or for failing to maintain her composure whenever she was hurt, growing up. But somehow, the nagging thought that he wanted to had always been there, especially after her mother died, and that was enough to make Charlie absolutely determined to avoid showing even the faintest flickers of emotion at all, until he had left the room, and she was on her own once again.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that maybe she truly did need his protection more than she wanted to admit.

With that thought in mind, Charlie had settled herself into the idea of simply remaining silent for the remainder of her stay in the hospital's emergency department, her lips thinning into a line as she crossed her arms over her chest, and attempted to regulate her breathing. She certainly did not want her heartrate to be any part of the reason why she could not get out of this place sooner, rather than later. And so, she once again allowed her head to lean back against the pillows, her eyes drifting closed as she forced herself to ignore the fact that her father was even there.

Of course, that only lasted about two seconds, seeing as Doctor Manning had apparently followed through on her promise to send someone to help Charlie to the bathroom, the soft tapping on the sliding glass door of her room drawing her gaze towards the young woman who hovered nearby, a tentative smile upon her lips as she looked from Voight, to her intended patient before she spoke.

"Doctor Manning sent me? You ready to try and get up?"

"Beyond ready," Charlie confirmed, carefully avoiding a glance in her father's direction as she threw back the blanket covering her legs, and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to rest them firmly upon the ground, "I just—you don't need to stop what you're doing to help."

"I'm happy to. Part of the job description," The young woman promised, her smile only growing as she stepped around the foot of the bed, and reached forward to place an arm underneath Charlie's to steady her as she rose to stand, with one hand on the IV pole. Together, they maneuvered around the bed, and towards the open doorway, Charlie's pace clearly proving a little surprising to her companion, though she did not bother to slow down…

Even the smallest prospect of some time to herself, so to speak, was far more comforting than lingering in the room with her father eyeing her every move, and Charlie was damned if she didn't take advantage of that fact while she could.

…

While Charlie was otherwise occupied, Hank Voight took the liberty of standing from the chair, and heading towards the doors that would lead to the ambulance bay, one hand digging into his back pocket for his cell phone as he went. Within seconds, he had dialed the number he had memorized almost from the first moment she had moved into his home, the phone soon tucked against his ear as he listened to it ring once—twice—three times, until a familiar voice echoed from the other end of the line, and he simultaneously moved through the double doors of the emergency department's exit to stand in the chilly night air.

"How is she?"

"She's fine, Erin. They're running more tests to rule out concussion, but according to Manning, it seems unlikely."

"Oh, thank God," Erin breathed, her relief apparent despite the fact that Hank could not see her face to determine such a thing first-hand, "She coming home?"

"She's not going to have much of a choice."

"Are you sure that's the best thing to do? She could always stay at my place, for a bit."

"I want to keep her with me," Hank demurred, knowing that Erin was likely about to protest that decision, and moving to prevent such a thing from deterring him in the effort to divert the conversation towards what he truly wished to discuss, "At least for now. We need to know if this guy has any other friends that may come after her."

"So, you think she'll have to testify."

"I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

"We can't just let this guy back out on the streets, Hank—"

"And we won't," The sergeant pressed, knowing full well exactly what could happen to his daughter if she were labeled a rat, and grinding his teeth together at the thought of how far he already knew he was willing to go to ensure that did not happen, "Tell me where we are with our mutual friend."

"Jay's in with him now," Erin replied, her tone hesitant, for a moment, as though she might not want to be fully forthcoming, given Hank's apparent mood, "So far, he's not given us anything to go on, aside from demanding a lawyer."

"Tell Halstead to put him in the cage."

"Hank—"

"The cage, Erin. Now," Hank repeated, running a hand over tired features, and turning back to glance inside the hospital doors before going on, "Have Ruzek and Atwater meet me outside the ED, to take Charlie home. I'm coming in."

"You really want to leave her on her own right now?" Lindsay asked, disbelief apparent in her tone, just as Hank had expected, though that was not entirely enough to sway him from his decision, either way, "Isn't that sort of what got us all into this mess to start with?"

"She won't be on her own for long. I'm not planning on staying with this prick all night."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that you need to concern yourself about," Hank said, aware of the faint scoff Erin gave in response, and yet still refusing to give in to her apparent need for full disclosure of his intentions, such as they were, pertaining to the man Ruzek had arrested earlier that day, "Just tell Halstead what I need him to do, and I'll take care of the rest when I get there."

"Tell Charlie I'll stop by some time tomorrow," Erin stated, the determination in her words giving Hank at least some modicum of hope that perhaps they could bring his daughter back from the brink of whatever hell that Mack had dragged her to, "See you in a bit."

"Yeah."

Disconnecting the call, and heading back in through the doors, and towards Charlie's room just as he caught sight of the nurse escorting her back to her bed, Voight stowed his phone back in his pants pocket, and moved to follow them, noting the slight wince that Charlie gave as she moved to lift her legs back onto the bed, despite the fact that it was readily apparent she wanted to play it off as though the expression had never once appeared upon her face. Just the sight of it was enough to have his teeth grinding together once again, his gaze steely, to say the least as he momentarily allowed his mind to stray over all of the worst possible things Mack could have done to her to make her feel as though she had no way out. But before those thoughts could deter him from keeping an eye on her until Ruzek and Atwater arrived to take over, Voight forced himself to focus upon the present moment, instead, resuming his place in the seat beside Charlie's bed while she settled back beneath the blankets, and pointedly avoided his gaze.

From the way she held herself, as though expecting an assault at any moment, Hank knew making Mack pay for what he had done would be nowhere near enough to assuage his own guilt over allowing his daughter to slip through his fingers, time and time again…

…


	13. Chapter 13

"Bet you're getting a bit of deja vu right about now," Atwater commented, allowing his attention to stray towards Ruzek as they walked towards the doors of the emergency department, and noting that he received a slight twitch of the mouth in response to his comment, in the process, "Voight say anything about why he wanted us for this?"

"The man wants a shot at the guy that hurt his daughter. Can't say I blame him."

"And you?"

"And I what?"

"Do you want a shot at the guy, too?"

"Maybe I do," Ruzek admitted, slowing to a stop to allow two nurses to pass through the open sliding glass doors, before stepping through them himself, with Atwater at his side, "Why the hell would she want to go back to him in the first place if he tried to kill her?"

"Could always ask her."

"Yeah. That would go over well."

Sharing a laugh at the thought, both men made their way into the lobby of Gaffney's ED, the sight of their superior's presence, leaning against the edge of the nursing station desk sobering them almost immediately as they moved to meet him halfway, sharing a glance that was more than a little apprehensive along the way. Both of them would have been blind to miss the strain that made itself apparent in the older man's expression, from the tightening at the corners of his eyes, to the slight twitch of a muscle in a rigid jaw. But each of them knew enough about Hank Voight to realize it was far wiser to remain silent on the matter, rather than attempting to ease his mind in any way, another sidelong glance passing between them before Atwater took the liberty of breaking the silence on his own.

"Where you want us, Sarge?"

"Charlie's in bed seven," Hank supplied, glancing back towards the aforementioned location, and working his jaw for a moment as he saw his daughter picking absently at what appeared to be a loose thread on her jeans, "Manning says she's almost ready to be discharged."

"We taking her home?"

"No detours. Straight there. You up for this?"

Sensing the question might have been directed more towards him, than his partner, Adam managed a determined nod, his own gaze straying towards the young woman that seemed to hold herself so stiffly in the hospital bed it was a miracle she didn't bolt at any second. In truth, he wasn't entirely certain how Charlie would react to the prospect of being under house arrest again, particularly given how things turned south the first time around. But regardless of his own misgivings, he would be damned if he gave Voight the opportunity to believe he was not ready to prevent the same thing from happening again, his attention turning back towards the older man as he swallowed once, before he replied.

"Absolutely, Sarge. We've got this."

"You'd better. Until we get this guy behind bars, I don't want Charlie leaving our sight."

"She won't. We'll make sure of it."

Voight's curt nod seemed to be the only acknowledgement they would get in response to the assurances that had been provided, his head turning back for one final glance at Charlie, before he was moving past the two men stood before him, and heading towards the doors, himself, in preparation to depart. Briefly, Adam wondered to himself if the man had even bothered to say goodbye to his daughter, the tension between them certainly no secret, whether the two of them had wanted to make it known or not. But almost as soon as the thought had come to mind, he was dismissing it, his attention turning back towards the present as he moved alongside Atwater towards the young woman in question, and found himself biting back an unexpected smile as Charlie noted their approach, and raised a brow in what might have been either amusement, or resignation before she spoke.

"So you brought back up this time. Good call."

Just as Adam had suspected, Charlie was, as always, in rare form…

…

"She okay?"

"She's fine, Alvin," Voight confirmed, moving past the man with barely a passing glance, and zeroing in on the man locked behind the bars of what their unit often referred to as 'The Cage' instead. It would have been a lie to pretend he was not almost absurdly grateful for the defiant cast to the younger man's expression, the sharp angles of the man's cheekbones shifting just a bit as he had the audacity to offer Voight a haughty smile. Almost instinctively, he felt his fingers curling into fists, the desire to hurt this man as much as he had hurt Charlie paramount, regardless of the witnesses to the act, or lack thereof. And before Olinsky could say anything to stop his current trajectory, Voight found that he was leveling a curt glance towards where Halstead stood before the locked door to the impromptu holding cell, a slight jerk of the head serving as the only indication the younger man required to withdraw the key stowed at his belt, unlock the door, and then move away.

"How's my girl?"

"She's none of your concern," Voight growled, moving forward to haul the younger man to his feet, and slamming him against the wall of the cage not long thereafter, "You're going to tell me if you had other people on your payroll."

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it's the only thing that's gonna stop me from ending you right now," Voight informed, crowding the man backwards, his simmering anger only growing as he realized the harsh sound that had escaped was what might have amounted to a laugh, "You think this is funny?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"I'm not laughing."

Before the younger man could have anticipated it, Voight used the hold he had on the man, with both hands fisted in his shirt, to turn them around and force him back, the sudden freedom of his hands giving him leave to throw a right hook towards the man's jaw, and knock him to the ground in response. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he registered Halstead moving just a fraction of an inch closer to the cage, just as he heard the muted plea from Olinsky encouraging him to take it easy. But now that he had the man in his custody, Voight was finding it increasingly difficult to hold back at all, the hoarse chuckling coming from Mack's frame as he shoved himself up onto his knees giving his adversary all the motivation in the world to aim a sharp kick to his ribs, sending him sprawling once again in next to no time at all.

"Who are you working for?"

"No one."

"Bull," Voight spat, stooping to haul Mack upright by the fabric of his shirt once again, and shoving him against the barrier separating them from the room at large, the obvious bravado in the younger man's expression only spurring him on as he relinquished the hold he had on one section of his shirt to reach that hand up and take hold of his jaw in a hard grip, instead, "You're not smart enough to run this whole thing yourself."

"I was smart enough to get to her."

The merest mention of Charlie had Voight almost immediately reaching for the gun holstered at his belt, the weapon in his hands and tucked just beneath Mack's jaw even in spite of the sudden sense of Olinsky's hand resting on his left shoulder. Fighting against the instinct to shove that restraining hand away, Voight remained stock-still, his eyes boring into Mack's as though daring him to say or do something that would force his hand. And inasmuch as he wanted to try his hand at putting as many holes in this man as he could before someone intervened, Voight resisted; Alvin's words succeeding in bringing him back to the present, and persuading him to take a singular step back from their prisoner in the same motion.

"Take a breather, Hank. Let Halstead handle this for a bit."

"Backing down that easily, old man?"

Words that might have persuaded him to forgo the need to get information from the man in the cage were rather effectively rendered ineffective as Voight became aware of two pairs of arms forcefully pulling him away from Mack's still chuckling form, the rage he felt over the taunt causing blood to pound in his ears, though his struggles to get free were futile. Before he could fully comprehend it, Voight found himself being herded towards the far end of the room, Jay's presence receding to tend to their prisoner himself, while Olinsky remained nearby, with a cautionary hand placed upon Hanks' arm. He wanted to chastise the man for holding him back. For keeping him away from the man that had nearly taken his daughter from him before he could stop it. But when anger made the words stick in his throat, Voight found he could do nothing else save for give Alvin a warning glare, the gesture clearly not even phasing the other man as he kept himself as a firm barrier between Voight and Mack, as he spoke.

"You're not doing her any favors if you get yourself in jail, Hank."

"I know that."

"Then back off," Olinsky said, aware of the flash of frustration in his companion's gaze, and yet refusing to flinch back in response, "Let's go get some air."

"Yeah. Okay," Voight relented, shrugging away from Olinsky's cautionary grasp, and heading over towards the door leading from the room they occupied, instead. It was more difficult than he cared to admit to walk away, though even he had to admit to some satisfaction when he heard the dull thud of what could only be Halstead's fist colliding with Mack's jaw. But no matter how he might chafe at the idea of allowing anyone else to wring the information he wanted from the man in the cage, Voight also knew that in his current frame of mind, it was far more likely that Mack would get what he wanted, than the other way around.

He would never tell Olinsky such a thing out loud, but he was well aware that if he had not been pulled away from Mack like he had, he very well may have ended his life, and destroyed any chance they had at discerning if there was still a threat against his daughter, in the process…

After all the times he had let Charlie down, he knew he could not afford to do it again.

…

"Need any help?" Atwater inquired, watching Charlie carefully as she made a grab for the bag of items that had been handed to her prior to her discharge from Gaffney's, and frowning a bit as she seemed to instinctively hold onto it just a bit more tightly in response to his offer of lightening the load.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive," Charlie insisted, brushing past Atwater, and biting back a sigh as she realized that his partner had moved to flank her side as she did so, "And I hardly need an escort to the front door."

"From where I'm standing, I think you do," Adam disagreed, maintaining his position at Charlie's side, and simultaneously allowing his gaze to stray around their immediate vicinity to discern if anyone were paying too close attention to their movements, "I'm not really looking forward to telling your dad we let you slip through our fingers, again."

"You gonna follow me into the shower, too, then?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

Charlie froze in response to the admission, her brow furrowing as she turned from the door that was just a few feet away, and regarding the man stood at her side with a skeptical glance for a moment or two as she struggled to reconcile the startled laugh that wanted to break free with her frustration over the realization that the remark seemed at least partially earnest, as well. At the back of her mind, she registered Atwater's presence at her other side, his hand reaching to unlock the door while she remained focused upon his partner, instead. And although Charlie would have been a fool to pretend she was not more than a little surprised at how easily Adam had pinned her to the spot with just a simple glance, she was soon shaking herself from the distraction, a smile that was not at all genuine pulling at her lips as she effected a shrug, and turned away from him to head into the door Atwater had just moved through, himself, before she spoke.

"Suit yourself. Don't think you'd be winning any extra favors from my dad by watching me take a bath, though."

Not even bothering to suppress the exasperation that made itself known in a scoff, Adam followed behind Charlie as she passed into her home, his eyes following her movements as she made a beeline for the stairs, and he was forced to relive the moment she had done the precise same thing, before, only to run out on him and land the two of them in a fair amount of trouble as a result. As though she sensed him watching her, Charlie turned back to look over her shoulder, one brow quirked as though she was daring him to say something about whatever it was that was on his mind. But before he could fully determine whether or not he truly wanted to give into the desire to do precisely that, Adam found himself distracted by Atwater's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, his eyes meeting the other man's as Charlie continued on her way up the stairs, and he felt the tension he had not even been aware he had been holding leave him bit by bit.

"I'll take a look around outside. Make sure she doesn't get any bright ideas like last time," Kevin supplied, giving Adam's shoulder one final squeeze before heading back towards the front door, and effectively leaving his partner alone to his thoughts in the process. With the exterior of the home covered, Adam was faced with nothing to do save for moving towards the foot of the stairs, and taking a seat on the lowest step with a sigh, his eyes drifting around the parts of Voight's home that were within his line of sight without really seeing them at all. And although he was more than a little hopeful that this time around, he would be able to prove himself as equal to the task that Voight had set before him, Adam was also more than a little wary of what may come to pass if he and Atwater were left alone with the man's daughter for very much longer.

She had made no secret of her distaste at being forced to remain in the home she had grown up in before, and Adam was not entirely foolish enough to believe that she would not make the attempt at breaking free for a second time, whenever the first opportunity presented itself to her.

…

Suppressing a frustrated groan over the prospect of being in her childhood bedroom once again, in a faded t-shirt and an old pair of sleep shorts with her damp hair tied up in a haphazard bun, Charlie plopped down on the edge of her bed, and allowed her fingertips to trace idly across the pattern of the comforter while her mind struggled to remain in the present, instead of travelling back to the events of the past few days, instead. As the thought of Mack, and how their relationship, such as it was, had blown apart far faster than she could have ever imagined it would, Charlie was forced to bite down on her lower lip, one hand lifting to dash at the beginnings of tears that had endeavored to trace their way down her cheeks while she simultaneously forced herself to stand once again, and head towards the window she had used as her escape route, the last time around. Somehow, the prospect of leaving via the same route did not seem so appealing, now, even in spite of the fact that the idea of spending any extended amount of time sharing the same roof as her father filled her with dread. And although she truly wished she could have found some other means of escape, Charlie would have been a liar to pretend that she did not also feel the strangest sensation that something was holding her back, as well.

Even in the face of her penchant for refusing to acknowledge any sort of self-preservation instinct at all, when it came to keeping up appearances, Charlie could not deny that the idea of venturing out on her own when she knew full well that the man Mack reported to would have her head in seconds if she did.

She had never known much about Hugo Jeffreys, since Mack had never seen fit to tell her anything about the job they were running beyond what she needed to know to take care of her part successfully. But what little she did know was enough to have her honestly fearful of the man, a shaky sigh escaping as she fought against the panic that wanted to claw its way up her throat, and turned from the window as soon as she saw the shadow of Atwater's sturdy frame moving around just below.

For a moment, Charlie almost considered the idea of simply crawling into bed, blue eyes straying towards the mattress and pillow as she mulled over the likelihood of finding oblivion and a respite from her muddled thoughts if she even attempted to try for sleep. But just as soon as she contemplated the idea, something almost instinctive seemed to persuade her to reconsider, her feet carrying her towards the door, instead, so that she could pad barefoot down the stairs, only to find that her path was blocked by the man sitting at the foot.

"Making a break for it?" Adam mused, turning to glance towards where Charlie stood mid-way down the stairs, and forcing his gaze to look her in the eye about as soon as he noted the ample amount of bare thigh left free by the cotton shorts that hugged her hips. The shirt she had donned after exiting the shower had been rolled up both at the hem, and the sleeves, as it appeared to be about three sizes too large. But before he could allow himself to become distracted by attempting to read the faded writing on the fabric, Adam shook himself back to the present, Charlie's blue eyes holding his own as she favored him with a faint twitch of the lips before she replied.

"Sure. I love the idea of running around Chicago barefoot, in the cold."

"I didn't think you'd let a little thing like that stop you."

"Well you thought wrong," Charlie quipped, taking the liberty of moving down the next few steps until she stood just before where Adam remained seated, and cocking her head to the side while one hand drifted down towards her hip not long thereafter, "You going to let me pass, or did my dad tell you I had to be locked in my room all night?"

"Depends on why you want to pass," Adam returned, moving to stand himself, and noting that when he did so, he still stood at least a head taller than Charlie, in spite of how she was still standing a step above him, "Hungry?"

"More like bored."

"Feel like a little tv?"

"Actually-yeah, I think I do," Charlie acknowledged, more than a little startled that the suggestion suddenly sounded so appealing, though she did her best to avoid letting that astonishment make its way into her expression, regardless, "I need permission for that?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Okay then. Can I get through, please?"

Emitting a short laugh, and standing to the side so that Charlie could do as she had asked, Adam found himself following after her as she made her way towards the sofa, her hands seeming to instinctively grab for the throw tossed haphazardly over the back so that she could wind it around her frame while she sat. She was not blind to how her would-be bodyguard almost immediately took a seat beside her, not close enough to provoke any outright discomfort, but still near enough to give her every reason to believe that if she intended to use this as some means of deception, he would be able to grab her before she could get away. But even with that awareness very prominent in the back of her mind, Charlie could not entirely complain about it, even on principle, her muscles tensing just a bit as she reached for the remote where it rested on the cushions between them, only to find that Adam's apparent move to do the same had caused their hands to brush together for the briefest of moments before she pulled away.

"Sorry. Your house. Go ahead," Adam amended, carefully placing his hand back in his lap, and watching as Charlie seemed to hesitate for a moment, before she was shifting to grab the device, and turning the television on with a faint touch of a button in seconds, flat. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she clutched the remote, while simultaneously folding her legs beneath her in such a way that she had almost curled into a ball beneath the blanket shielding her frame. And although some small part of him wanted to do something to put her at ease, Adam resisted, knowing that in her current state of mind, any attempt to pull Charlie from her reticence would only do more harm than good.

Somehow, the idea of forcing her into anything she did not consent to wholeheartedly left Adam with the notion that he would be faced with her disappearance once again as a result, and that was a reality he simply would not allow.

…


End file.
